


You're My Light in the Dark

by So_Lovely_Dovey



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Abuse, Cultural Differences, Determinism and Free Will, Discrimination, Drama, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Gossipy Hobbits, Gymnastics, Hobbit Courting, Humor, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Narcissism, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rewrite, Romance, Training, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/So_Lovely_Dovey/pseuds/So_Lovely_Dovey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as I used to love fairy tales, I never actually believed in them.  Not until that fateful day, anyway.  After all, as the old saying goes: you’ve got to see it to believe it.  Only my sister, Lauren, and I… we didn’t just see it.  We lived it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started way back in 2003. It was my first real project and what made me fall in love with writing. That being said, I was thirteen at the time and it clearly showed. As _Light in the Dark_ has always held a special place in my heart, I’ve done a thorough overhaul of the plot, especially for the beginning chapters. It’s mostly the same story, just now with more depth and focus – and because of these developments, it’s now a bit more serious than it was in the original.
> 
> Years ago I received emails from concerned readers about my portrayal of the sport of gymnastics – thinking it unfair or inaccurate. But I won’t apologize for it. Coaches like the ones in _Light in the Dark_ – no matter the sport – do exist, sadly. It’s important to keep in mind that Kate’s experiences in this story are unique to her, and are a product of her dysfunctional situation. 
> 
> If you happen to read this story, please review. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this project, which for many years I’ve used as a playground to try out new writing concepts and styles. Feedback is always welcome, constructive criticism even more so. 
> 
> While the “Falling into Middle Earth” storyline is cliché and overused by now, I hope this take on it is unique enough to be enjoyed. If it’s not your cup of tea, move on. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.

 

 

_Oh how I wish_  
_For soothing rain_  
_All I wish is to dream again_  
_My loving heart_  
_Lost in the dark_  
_For hope I'd give my everything_  
  
\- Nemo by Nightwish

  
  
  
  
  
**You're My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 1_

 

I don't know why, and probably will never know, how I got myself into this. I am in a living hell – my body and mind are completely overwhelmed. Then again, that’s what the sport of gymnastics can do to you when you’re training elite. The sport is my life and has been since I was a little kid. I enjoyed it when I was little. It used to be fun. Now I just find that it consists of expectations, scary tricks, nasty coaches, and a lot of injuries. There is no fun to be had anymore.

I don’t quite remember the transition from fun past-time to grueling hell. Just that it’s happened somehow… and that I’m truly stuck in the situation. As if on cue, my feet throbbed painfully, serving as a reminder to the wonderful day I have ahead of me. I bit down on my lip hard as I rode out the ache, tilting my head back against the pillows, willing both the pain – and time – to stop. I’ve been trying my best to not look at the clock, to not even think about the clock, or about how time is creeping ever steadily toward 5:30 AM. Because that is the time my mother is going to come and ‘wake me up.’ Too bad I didn’t get much sleep last night. The pain kind of prevented it, despite how exhausted I was.

I hurt myself last night during practice – or rather, it’s an injury that’s been compounded and gotten worse gradually over the past week, and has finally reached its breaking point. It’s not the worst injury I’ve ever sustained – I have had plenty of broken bones, dislocated joints, and bleeding calluses (also known as rips in the gymnastics world) – but it still hurts regardless. At my beam coach’s insistence, I have been learning a new mount for my balance beam routine – a front tuck. And I’m terrible at it. My coach demands that I learn the front tuck, despite how I already have a round-off back layout mount that treats me just fine. I have always been better at tumbling backwards than forwards, and the two moves are worth the same amount of points. So, quite frankly, I don’t understand why my coach is so adamant about it. Especially since it’s causing quite a lot of pain. For some reason I cannot get enough height before the flip, causing me to land in a squat on my heels time and time again. And my heels have not taken kindly to the beating – they are now swollen and terribly bruised. It has gotten to the point where I can barely walk.

Not like that matters, though.

My bedroom light flicked on suddenly, and I quickly found myself squinting at the brightness of it. My mother bounded into the room, already fully dressed and with her make-up in place. Sometimes I have to wonder about my mother and her motives for putting me through this. Sometimes I can’t help but think that she does it to pad the lining of her numerous “successes”… how after my father had walked out on us she was able to hold the rest of the family together, was able to raise her two daughters on her own, how she’s fostered the talent and dedication those two daughters have regarding their respective sports…

I’m the gymnast. My younger sister Lauren is the figure skater. We’re both at really high levels now. Hell, I passed the test and officially achieved elite status (Olympic level, the highest level you can go) just a few months ago. But it didn’t really feel like a victory. Not really. And that’s because I don’t want it. I wanted to quit years ago. I wasn’t allowed to. Which sounds ridiculous, I know, but there you have it.

My mother poked me in the side roughly, indicating that I should get up out of bed. Problem was, I found it hard to muster up the energy to move. After a few moments where I tried valiantly to ignore her presence, she poked me again. She then crossed her arms with a huff. “Well?” she questioned, frustration and impatience lacing her voice, “What is it now?”

She knows exactly what my problem is. This happens every time I hurt myself and tell her I should take a day off from practice to help heal an injury.  Since my coaches don’t listen to me, don’t care, and force me to do exercises that only serve to aggravate injuries, time off is really my only option. I glared at her. “The same problem I came home with last night. My heels are killing me. I already told you that I need a break before I hurt myself worse.”

“Tuition costs too much to simply skip practices, Katherine,” she shot back at me, tutting. “Not to mention, you can’t afford to fall behind at your skill level.”

I inwardly seethed. She was right, of course. Except for the fact that I could give a damn about my skill level – I don’t want to do this anymore – and while it might be expensive, that was all due to her forcing me to continue with the damn sport. I bit my tongue as my mother said, “Now get ready for practice and get yourself downstairs, little lady. I will not tell you again,” before she turned to leave the room. Her tone was stern, and all but promised I would be sorry if I didn’t do exactly what I was told.

I think my mother puts me through this because she likes showing off, with all the attention she gets from my success and the bragging rights that go along with it. When we were younger, Lauren didn’t understand why I was so bitter toward our mother. But when she got to a high enough level with her figure skating, that’s when she finally got a taste of what I dealt with for years: nothing is ever good enough. It’s as if she actually expects us to have a shot at the Olympics. (Yeah, right.)

After she left the room I slowly counted to five, let in a deep breath, and tried my best to not let my eyes well up. It didn’t work.

“Damn it all to hell,” I muttered, and finally mustered up the willpower to get out of bed to face the day.

 

* * *

 

Lauren was in the kitchen eating a bowl of dry Cheerios when I made my way downstairs ten minutes later. Only, it wasn’t so much “a bowl of Cheerios” as it was a mere handful of them placed within a bowl. She was still clad in her pjs with her dark blonde hair sticking up every which way. She was also tense, hunched up over the kitchen table, clearly trying to hide the obvious stash of granola bars she had under her sweatshirt. She visibly relaxed when she saw it was only me and not our mother.

“Oh thank God. I thought I was dead for sure,” Lauren whispered as she revealed an already opened granola bar and continued munching on it. “The food Nazis has me on a diet again. I don’t think I can handle it.”

I gave her a pitying look, already sensing what happened. “She forced you on the scale in front of her again, yeah?”

Lauren glowered darkly, muttering to herself about awful witches wanting her to become anorexic. The sad thing is, as much as my sister has a flair for dramatics, it’s not far from the truth. The last time our mother had forced us on ‘special diets’ Lauren passed out on the ice in the middle of a lesson, nearly giving herself a concussion in the process.

Coming to herself, and realizing that our mother could come downstairs at any moment, Lauren dumped the stash of granola bars into her skating bag. She shuffled back over to the table and sat down with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Kat.”

It’s difficult watching my sister, who used to be so upbeat and happy all the time, mope like this. The moping, for us, has been going on for too long now. Her sentiments mirror my own. I sighed as well. “I know,” I replied. “But what can we do?”

Lauren had a look of complete defeat in her blue eyes, knowing as well as I did that we don’t have any options. She was even more tired than I was. She tried to outright rebel on our mother a while back. The key word there was ‘tried’. The rebelling only made her situation worse. To this day Lauren refuses to go down into our basement, and refuses to tell me the extent of what happened down there. All I know was that sometime during Lauren’s rebellious stage I had traveled with my gymnastics team for a competition down in Florida for a week. When I came back, Lauren hadn’t really been the same.

“But we have to do something,” she insisted. “ _Anything_. I just don’t know what yet.”

I gave a half smile as she shoved the remainder of her granola bar into her mouth. I pointed at the wrapper she was balling up in her hands. “Maybe in our own way, we are doing something. We are getting by. We’ll think of something that will make that getting by a little easier.”

“Do you promise? That we’ll try to find some way of making things better?”

I couldn’t deny her what little hope she had just rekindled. So I nodded as I gave her a pat on the head and limped around her, making my way out to the driveway where my carpool was waiting for me. Jill’s mother honked the horn just as I got to the front door. I could already hear my mother yelling at me from the top of the stairs to hurry it up or I’d make everyone late. Snatching my gym bag from off the bottom step, I bit the inside of my cheek as I went out and slammed the door as hard as I could behind me.

I could see Jill sleeping up against the passenger side door before I even got into the car. Her dark hair was splattered against the window, her head cradled in the crook of her arm. Poor Jill has never been a morning person. Coffee and Mountain Dew are the only solutions for the cranky eighteen year old. If she doesn’t have the caffeine in her system before the early morning practices she’s absolutely miserable.

Jill’s mother, the saint that she was, handed me a Dunkin Donuts bag. A blueberry muffin was stashed inside it. “Thank you,” I said, surprised at the gesture.

She gave me a kind smile. “I figured you could use something a little sweet,” was all she said as she backed the car up and out of the driveway.

 

* * *

 

Morning practices aren’t typical in my gym during the school year because most teenagers are – you know – in school. But since Jill and I, two of the highest level gymnasts at the gym, happened to be homeschooled our coach pounced on the opportunity for extra mandatory training. Lucky us.

Jill and I have been friends for years, which makes the whole experience a lot less painful than it could be. Especially since we don’t like our other teammates much. A good majority of them are spoiled rotten and act bipolar – they act like a friend one minute and a raving, monstrous bitch the next. My life is stressful enough as it is, I don’t have much patience to deal with them too.

Like we do every morning, Jill and I barricaded ourselves in the locker room before practice. Practice doesn’t start until 8:00 so we are not going to start our torture any earlier than we have to.

Jill dug through her gym bag frantically, biting her lip in worry. “I could’ve sworn I had heel pads in here,” she commented.

I waved a hand at her. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage,” I said, sitting down on the wooden bench with a sigh.

She paused in her search long enough to shoot a frown in my direction. “Yeah, well. We can’t have you hurting any more than you need to.”

I couldn’t help but smile gratefully at her. It was nice to know someone cared.

Seeing my smile, she smirked in return, her large brown eyes sparkling. “Yeah, so I give a shit about you. You can stop looking at me like that now.”

“Like what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I’m your hero.” She grinned as she pulled gelled hell pads out of the depths of the bag. “Never mind, I take that back,” she said, tossing them to me, “Look at me like that all you want.”

“I am ever so grateful for your awesomeness,” I replied playfully. Grabbing a roll of sports tape in order to strap the pads to my feet, I continued, “And to show you my appreciation, I will take you to the movies this weekend, my treat.”

Jill nodded sagely, the dark mass of curls in her ponytail bouncing. “And the fact that the last Lord of the Rings movie is coming out this week has absolutely nothing to do with it,” she returned lightly, full of sarcasm.

I could only grin, sheepish, shrugging at her a bit.

After a moment she said, “Ah, fine. As long as I get popcorn out of the deal.”

I couldn’t help myself, I squeed, completely excited.

“Besides,” Jill added as an afterthought, deciding to ignore my fangirl-ish outburst, “That blonde elf is awfully nice to look at.”

 

* * *

_PINGGGGGGGGGG!_

 

Jill missed her release move on bars... again. She’s still learning the trick and can’t quite get the timing right. The trick is called a geinger. It requires her to swing upward, toes toward the ceiling, and let go to do a flip with a half turn before catching the bar again. She keeps on letting go of the bar just a smidge too early, which leaves her flipping too far away from the bar and unable to catch it again. She’s getting closer, but now the bar pings obnoxiously every time the tips of her fingers smash into the bar on her way down.

“God _fucking_ dammit!” Jill screeched from her place in the foam pit. She’s fallen so many times in the same spot that a giant chasm has formed. “I fucking hate geingers!” She hit the blocks around her angrily, sending old crumbling foam, dust, and chalk into the air around her.

Our coach, Vali, is a middle-aged Romanian who doesn’t speak much English. He has dark hair, big eyebrows, a mustache that almost completely hides his mouth, and a scary face that turns a nasty shade of purple whenever he gets angry – like right now. The two of them have been dancing around their frustrations for the past hour. But after countless failed geinger attempts, patience was wearing thin for them both. He was sitting at the side of the pit, shaking his head in aggravated disbelief. “Well geingers don’t like you either,” he spat with his thick accent. “Stop bending legs and let go when I say and _maybe_ you catch bar.” His tone was nothing less than nasty.

From her place in the pit, Jill scowled up at him darkly, not at all appreciating the attitude or the slight at her abilities. She matched attitude with attitude. “Oh yeah? Well if _someone_ would actually _spot me_ once in a while, _maybe_ I wouldn’t be so afraid of hitting my feet on the bar that I might be able to catch the damn thing!”

“Oh, I spot you, right away,” Vali said sarcastically. It was clear that he wasn’t going to go near Jill with a ten foot pole, especially now that she was being rude and talking back to him.

I made my way over to the edge of the pit, offering Jill a hand out. She took it gladly, chalk flying as our hands made contact. I cringed as Vali then turned his less-than-pleased attention on me. “And _you_ ,” he started mockingly, “Sidney say you need beam practice.” Figures the beam coach would talk to him about this. “Front tuck mounts,” he added, as if I needed the clarification, “You land ten before go home.”

I glanced at the clock. We only had ten minutes left of practice. I haven’t been able to land one yet in my numerous attempts the past few weeks. And by the smirk he’s giving me, he clearly knows that. Evil bastard.

Pointing to my taped heels I said pleadingly, “I can’t. These mounts have been killing my feet. If I keep practicing them constantly like I have, I will not be able to walk tomorrow.”

Problem is, Vali does not like to be disobeyed. His face turned an even darker shade of purple and the vein in his forehead gave a mighty throb. Eerily silent, he pointed toward the beam area, conveying the message: I don’t give a shit, get your ass over there.

I was not normally one to argue with my coaches, but I gave a deep breath. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow at the challenge. “You no leave till you do mounts.”

Jill looked on with pity, mouthing apologies for getting him in this mood. Meanwhile I did not know what to do. On one hand I know very well he will make due on his threats. But this was futile for me. I can’t even land one, never mind ten. And he’s giving me ten minutes to do it. Glancing over toward the viewing area, I saw Jill’s mother – my ride home – watching on. She was too far away though, and I could not make out her expression. I felt sorry for what I was about to do. Unbuckling my grips, I started toward the locker room, which was in the opposite direction of the beams. I heard foreign curses being yelled at my back. But I continued on. I wasn’t expecting to be followed, chased more like. I ran as fast as I dared with my injured feet – and seeing as gymnasts are taught to run on the balls of the feet, leaving the heels off the ground (more spring in the step that way) – I was at least able to do so with minimal pain. But it wasn’t enough. I was too injured to full out sprint. I only just reached the locker room door when I felt a hand roughly grab my arm. It was a vice-grip, hard enough to bruise.

“You no leave,” was all he said, twisting my arm as he began to drag me back out into the gym.

I cried out in pain as my arm was twisted further in his anger. “Let me go!” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jill’s mother get up in alarm, and come rushing over to intervene. It was surprising, to say the least. Usually the parents stayed clear out of it – it’s as if there are boundaries that can not be crossed, as if the parents ceased to be our parents the moment we step out into the gym and they no longer have any authority. For Jill’s mother to be getting into this was big. Very big. Especially since I’m not even her child.

All I could see from my perspective was her curly, sliver-streaked hair fly about her as she came zooming toward us. “You let her go!”

Vali glared at her, accusing her with his eyes: she had crossed a line she was not supposed to have crossed – the unspoken rule of not interfering with how the coach disciplined the gymnast had been broken.

She continued to stare him down, standing her ground. “Shame on you, laying a hand on a child!  To think you would do this in my presence makes me wonder what you feel like you can do to the children – my child – when no one is watching. Now get your hands off of Kat. We are leaving. _Now_.”

He released me, albeit reluctantly. As I rubbed the feeling back into my arm I could see Jill, who had come up behind us, looking horrified at what happened, yet proud of her mother at the same time. “I talk to your mother about this,” he spat in my direction, taking a step back.

Jill’s mother glared right back at him. She knew all too well how my mother is, how she would take the news of this situation: none too well. “Well, you bet I’m talking to her as well. And if she’s knows what’s best for her child, she would never bring Kat back here. I know I certainly won’t be bringing _my daughter_ back here. Now get your things, girls.”

Vali, probably fearing what the head coach, his boss, would say about the prospect of losing two of his top gymnasts (and probably afraid he would make the situation worse by saying anything else) clamped his mouth shut, turned on his heel, and let us be.

I was so shocked I think I forgot to breathe for a moment. Jill’s mother put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” she assured, giving me a squeeze. I wanted desperately to believe her. I flashed her a grateful look, thanking her for everything she’s done. It felt nice to finally have someone – an adult – on my side. But I knew I was going to be in for a world of pain as soon as I got home.

The car ride home was a little uncomfortable. There were a lot of unknowns. Like exactly how bad things were going to be at home once I got there. What will happen to my friendship with Jill now that her mother announced that they were going to join another gymnastics team? Jill and I huddled in the back seat, comforting each other silently as Jill’s mother talked on her cell phone with my mother for the better part of the ride. It seems like Vali had gotten a hold of my mother first, however, since things did not seem like they were going too well. It sounded like my mother was giving her an earful, probably along the lines of, _“How dare you get involved!”_ and _“You better not have ruined my daughter’s prospects at that gym,”_ ignoring the heart of the problem altogether. Jill’s mother tapped her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as we sat at a red light. It was apparent my mother was getting to her. The conversation eventually ended, with Jill’s mother snapping her phone shut and throwing it at the passenger’s side seat with quite a bit of force.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said. “I did what I could.”

 

* * *

 

My mother was on me as soon as I walked in the front door. She was raving. “What have you done?” she screeched.

I set my gym bag down by the door and said calmly, “I’m injured; Vali didn't care, and was trying to force me to practice tricks that would only make it worse. When I decided to put my health first, instead of mindlessly obeying his orders, he blew a gasket.”

“It’s the best gym in the state! Don’t you think your coaches know better than you? Not to mention the fact that I do not pay _three hundred and fifty dollars a month_ for you to disobey your coaches. And how do you repay me for all my generosity? By throwing all that time, effort, and money in my face.”

Oh, here come the dramatics and the guilt trips. I’m not in the mood for these games. Something snapped, and finally, _finally_ I lost it. “Oh yes, because I’ve just been _begging_ you to let me continue gymnastics for _all these years_ now. Since I just love it _oh so much_.”

The expression on my mother’s face was one of pure fury. “My daughters just do not appreciate what I do for them!” Grabbing my arm, much like Vali had done just an hour earlier, I found myself being dragged toward the basement. Her nails were digging harshly into my skin. “You are going to think about what you’ve done while I go clean up the mess you made!” And before I knew it, the basement door was unlocked, flying open, and I was being shoved inside of it. Problem: the door to our basement is at the top of a staircase. I don’t think my mother meant to shove me as hard as she did, but with her emotions running high, she was taking her anger out on me without realizing it. I say this because the next thing I knew, I was frantically clawing at the walls to balance myself.

Too late.

I tumbled down the wooden staircase, wondering with each impact when the pain was going to stop. I think I heard yelling, but I couldn’t be sure.

I don’t remember hitting the bottom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the fun with gymnastics is actually watching it. For each chapter that deals with gymnastics terminology (like this one) there will be an end note with a link to videos demonstrating the skills being performed.
> 
>  
> 
> [Beam Mount - Round off layout step out : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNNTTvSDvoU](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNNTTvSDvoU)
> 
>  
> 
> [Beam Mount - Front tuck : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YWQn800AZU](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YWQn800AZU)
> 
>  
> 
> [Bars Release Move - Geinger : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqPuACmT-NA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqPuACmT-NA)


	2. An Odd Encounter

**You’re My Light in the Dark**

_Chapter 2_

Eyes flying open, I sat up and quickly regretted it when my forehead came in contact with something hard. "Ow!" Once again sprawled out on my back, cursing at the budding headache, I rubbed at the sore spot and found myself face-to-face with a low hanging branch.

Wait... a branch?

I blinked several times, even tried rubbing my eyes to see if I was hallucinating. But I wasn't. I reached up and prodded the wood. Nope, the branch was very real… as was the bed of fallen leaves and dead pine needles I found myself lying in. Scooting over a bit so I could get up without incident, I saw that I was sitting in the middle of a forest.

"I must be dreaming... " I commented aloud to myself. I tried getting to my feet but was quickly on my knees, clenching my jaw against the pain in my heels. "Okay, nope, not dreamin'," I hissed in pain.

Trees groaned around me. Birds chirped.

Great, I'm somewhere the middle of a damn forest, barefoot. Where the hell am I? What happened? I can’t seem to remember. Vague notions teased at the edge of my memory, but nothing was falling into place. I still had my gym sweats on, but not my leotard, so I must’ve finished practice and gone home. Right? I must’ve just finished practice for my heels to hurt so badly. But how did I end up in a forest?

After waiting a few minutes for the ache in my feet to dull a bit, I stood back up, careful to stay up in _relev_ _é_ and not put any pressure on my heels. Although it still hurt, at least I was able to stand without collapsing. Glancing around again, I couldn't help but notice how the trees were turning autumn colors, with beautiful reds and golds overwhelming the green.

That's weird, I thought to myself. The trees already lost all of their leaves weeks ago, and seeing how it’s almost Christmas, New England is sure to get hit with a foot of snow any day now. This fact only confused me more. And although I could have sworn I’ve never been here, wherever here is, a distinct feeling of déjà vu hit me. I need to find my way out of the forest and figure out what the hell is going on. I glanced around, feeling a bit hopeless, as I couldn't see a clear way out. There was just forest all around, for what looked like miles.

"Perfect," I muttered sarcastically.

 

* * *

  

It was an ordinary October afternoon for Frodo Baggins. After running errands for his Uncle – which included dropping off items to the Mathom House and mailing the latest batch of letters to friends and family – Frodo found he had some time to himself. Book in hand, he wound his way far into the forest lands behind the Mill to avoid his cousins – who for the past few weeks have made a game of trying to find Frodo’s reading spots to annoy him. Today he chose a tall tree, climbed his way up, and settled in to reread one of his uncle’s Elvish texts. He’d been there for all of ten minutes when he was distracted by movement and a voice at the foot of his tree.

"Ah! Damn it!" a female voice bit out in aggravation.

He placed the book in his lap and glanced down toward the ground curiously to see a hobbit lass wearing strange clothing face down in the dirt. Hmm, she must have tripped over the tree roots, he supposed. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and yanked twigs out of her hair in irritation.

Frodo studied the strange lass. He didn’t recognize her, which was enough of an oddity in the town of Hobbiton, but on top of that, she wasn't clad like any other lass he knew; wearing bright colored trousers and a rather large and baggy hooded shirt. The only reason he’d been able to tell she was a lass at first glance was by the distinct higher-pitched tone to her voice. He watched on as she continued to pick leaves and twigs out of her light brown hair. She glanced around, not noticing Frodo up in the tree, and let out a groan of frustration.

"Hello!" Frodo called down to her. Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and she looked around her, looking a bit sheepish at finding out she wasn't as alone as she had originally thought. Frodo tucked his book back in his bag and climbed out of the tree to greet the lass properly.

"Er... hi," she said a little awkwardly from her seat in the leaves. "You wouldn't happen to know where we are and how to get out of here, would you?" she asked, sounding hopeful, "I'm a bit lost."

He held out a hand, offering to help her up to her feet. It struck him then how _small_ she was, the thinness of her face, the bony wrist as she grasped his offered hand – thinner than even himself, and he got prodded by his Aunt Esme to eat more as often as she could help it. Their eyes met, and he saw a nervousness in her he couldn’t understand.

Frodo gave a smile, hoping to alleviate her fears, whatever they may be. "I can show you the way to the town square if you wish?"

 

* * *

 

 

Something about this guy seemed so familiar to me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. His curly mop of dark brown hair ruffled in the wind, and I suddenly felt self-conscious as he studied me with bright blue eyes.

His choice of wardrobe was definitely... different as well. There was nothing _wrong_ with it, mind you, but what he was wearing certainly wasn't the typical t-shirt and jeans. It was all sort of old-fashioned? He had on a pair of loose-fitting brown pants, the bottoms rolled up a bit, which were held up by suspenders. Honestly, who wore suspenders anymore? Underneath he wore a white button-down shirt that looked to be made out of a lightweight material.

Strange outfit aside, he was nice enough to offer to show me the way out of the forest, and I’m extremely grateful for that. Who knows how long I was wandering about aimlessly before I happened to stumble upon him by chance?

"Are you new in town, then?" he asked. “I’ve never seen you around before.”

I shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure where we are, exactly, so I couldn't tell you."

He was just a step ahead of me, and he turned to give me a curious glance. I had to give the guy credit for his patience; it was obvious he was just as interested and confused about me as I was about the whole situation, yet he wasn't pressing me too hard for answers.  Not to mention it was hard for me to keep up with him because of my injured feet, and he kept on having to backtrack every time he realized I started to lag too far behind.

"We're just north of Hobbiton," he explained.

I shook myself a bit. I must’ve hit my head on that branch harder than I thought. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I don’t think I heard you right.”

“Hobbiton is just up ahead,” he said a little louder, and this time there was no mistaking what he had said. Realization hit me head on, and I stopped dead in my tracks, not really believing what I heard; meanwhile, my guide was completely unaware of my dilemma and continued onward. “The direction you came from, you must be from the North Farthing, then.”

"Oh my—"

"What's your name?"

My brain barely registered his question over the dull roar of my heart as it started to beat frantically, ringing in my ears. "What?" I asked absentmindedly. He glanced back at me again, raising his eyebrows at my confusion.

"What's your name? I don't believe I caught it."

"Kate. My name's Kate." I gulped nervously. "What's yours?"

He flashed me a smile. "Kate?” he said slowly, trying the name out. Only, it seemed like he was unfamiliar with it. It sounded foreign coming from him, mispronounced ever so slightly as he drew the long ‘A’ out too long. “Well, that's certainly a different name, perhaps you’re not from the North Farthing, then... " he mused and stuck out a hand, "I’m Frodo. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kate."

Was this some sort of joke? But it couldn’t be, no, not with that earnest face, that kind, carefree smile. Tearing my gaze away, I quickly glanced down at his feet. Large, bare, hairy feet. Good god, he’s a hobbit. _The_ hobbit.

I felt the blood leave my face. Breath caught in my throat, suddenly feeling very dizzy as the world seemed to spin around me. The last thing I saw was Frodo's startled face before everything went black… again.

 

* * *

 

Samwise Gamgee was having a very pleasant afternoon. He was doing what he did and loved best: his gardening. He was currently weeding a patch of his favorite yellow tulips at the front edge of Bag End's property. The sun beat down upon his back, but a nice fall breeze was blowing about, making up for the heat of the sun's rays. He sat back on his heels and wiped the sweat that had started up on his brow when he suddenly heard his master call for him.

"Sam!" A grunt. "Sam! Can you come and open the front door for me?"

Sam was somewhat surprised. Why was Frodo back so early? Whenever he went out with a book in hand, you could bet money that he wouldn't return until dusk for supper. After all, hadn't that been their plan… for them to meet at the Green Dragon for supper? Yet, ever the helper that he was, Sam brushed his dirt-covered hands on his trousers and went to the door. He was shocked when he saw his friend and employer at the door with a strangely dressed (and very unconscious) lass in his arms, Frodo looking a bit embarrassed at Sam's surprised and questioning glances.

"Mister Frodo?" Sam prompted.

"Can you just open the door and help me get her inside?" Frodo muttered, though not unkindly.

"Sure thing, Mister Frodo," Sam replied opening the round, green door to the hobbit hole then took hold of the lass' feet. "Where should we bring her?"

Frodo shifted the lass in his arms as they brought her into the entrance hall, nudging the front door shut with a foot. "I was planning on taking her to one of the guest rooms."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. They went throughout the home until they came to the desired hall, going into the second bedroom on the right. They placed her on the bed and with their hands free Sam finally asked the question that had been bugging him the whole while. "Who is she?"

Frodo shifted from one foot to the other, looking very uncomfortable as he gave a slight shrug. "I'm not too sure. Her name's Kate; that's all I really know about her." Frodo ran a hand through his hair and slid out of the room and went down the hall to his own room to avoid any other awkward questions his friend might throw at him. The whole situation was odd enough as it was in his own mind, he didn't feel like explaining his actions to Sam and make it sound even stranger than it was already.

He moved the strap of his bag up and over his head before dropping it to the floor beside his bed. He just brought a strange lass he barely knew into his home, and his uncle was currently at Brandy Hall visiting family. Bag End was a much closer trek than to Healer Mayweather’s home on the other side of town. What else could he have done?

A knock on the door cut through his thoughts. Frodo gave a sigh of defeat. "Come on in, Sam." Sam poked his sandy colored head into the room.

"What happened?" Sam asked. “Something must’ve happened.”

Frodo breathed a sigh. "I was out in the woods behind the mill reading when I found her. She was wandering about lost. It seemed like she had been out there for some time. She stumbled upon me and asked my help on getting out." He started to make his way to the kitchen, Sam following close behind. Frodo filled the kettle with water and placed it over the fire, then got out two teacups. "Asked her for her name, then she asked for mine. That's when she fainted, you see. Told her my name and she went as white as a sheet then keeled right over."

"Odd," Sam commented again.

"Indeed," Frodo concurred.

"Well, at least you know you're still popular," Sam teased with a smile.

Frodo rolled his eyes at his friend then pulled the kettle off the fire, pouring the both of them some tea. "I wouldn't say 'popular' would be the right term. I'm more likely known as _'crackpot Baggins.’_ "

"No, that's your Uncle Bilbo, most definitely," Sam corrected, then elaborated when he saw Frodo's warning look. "I'm not saying it's right mind you, but you and I both know that your uncle isn't the most popular hobbit. Besides, yes, there are some rumors going around with you succeeding your uncle an’ all, but you don't have the whole Shire muttering nutty things about you behind your back, at the least."

Frodo sighed, knowing Sam was right, sipping his tea in thought. Soon enough Sam was putting his cup in the sink, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder, and heading back outside to finish up his gardening for the day.

After cleaning up the cups and putting them back up in the cupboards, Frodo wandered down toward the hall of guest rooms. He poked his head in the room Kate was in, noticing she was still unconscious. He’d give it a few more hours; if she doesn’t come to in the next few hours, he’ll call for the healer, he decided. Closing the door softly behind him, and after retrieving the book from his room, he made his way to the study to curl up in an armchair by the fire to read in the peace he had originally sought out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Relevé_ : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtCJvJSYvAM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtCJvJSYvAM)


	3. A Tale of Mushrooms

**You’re My Light in the Dark**

_Chapter 3  
_

Sunlight was what woke Lauren up. With a yawn she rolled over onto her stomach to get her eyes out of the irritating light, only to get a face full of dirt. She sat up spluttering, her sleep-tousled hair going every which way as she shook her head frantically and rubbed at her face. “What the—”

When the oddity of getting smothered by dirt instead of a pillow as was expected finally dawned on her, Lauren glanced up slowly. When she took in her surroundings her jaw dropped. She was sitting in the middle of a cornfield, which definitely wasn’t where she had fallen asleep.

Lauren knew she wasn’t dreaming; this seemed far too real. She patted the earth beside her as if to reassure herself she really wasn’t still asleep. Was this some sort of prank? A rescue attempt? Lauren honestly wouldn’t put it past Jill to try and save her from the perils of her mother’s rage. She got to her feet and looked around curiously, just waiting for her friend to jump out from behind the corn stalks to claim the rescue or prank as her doing. But Jill did no such thing.

“Jill, come on out! This isn’t funny!” Lauren called. Jill, however, didn’t answer. Not that Jill would have known to find her in the basement anyhow, as not even Kat knew. But Kat… she sighed. There were now more pressing matters at hand, such as where the hell she was.

What’s going on?

_“Get out of my crops you little thieves!”_

The shout sounded distant; it must have come from far off. Thieves? Lauren glanced around her, hoping this farmer wasn’t mistaking her for a thief or whoever was doing the stealing. But who in their right mind would want to steal vegetables? She could understand CDs, clothes, or jewelry; but _vegetables_?

“Hurry up, Merry!” another voice shouted. This one was closer, and Lauren soon realized the thieves were headed in her direction by how much closer the reply sounded and how she could now hear the corn stalks being moved aside as they went along.

“This is all your fault, Pip!”

“My fault! _My_ fault? It certainly was not! It was all because of that great big stupid _dog_!”

It was then that a guy wearing no shoes (which Lauren found particularly odd) came barreling out of the corn stalks and into the clearing Lauren was in, and not expecting her to be there, plowed right head-long into her. The two went airborne, vegetables flying around them. “Oof!” Lauren landed painfully with the guy on top of her. His dirty blonde curly hair hung in his eyes, and he propped himself up on his arms to give her a proper apology.

“Quite sorry, lass,” he said and quickly got up and gave her a hand up as well before picking the vegetables back up. “Have I seen you somewhere before?” he asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

“I don’t think so,” Lauren replied slowly. She had been wondering the same thing about him. He too seemed familiar, but she couldn’t figure out how so.

“I’m Pippin,” he supplied as he piled more carrots on top of the growing pile in his arms.

Lauren frowned. She knew where she’s heard that name before. Some Lord of the Rings fanatic probably named their kid after that character, the rational part of her brain was thinking. That was when another barefoot curly-haired guy then stumbled into the clearing as well, and did a double take when he saw the two of them. “What’s this?” he panted. “We have _no time_. Farmer Maggot is coming this way! _Hurry!_ ” Before Lauren could protest or give a second thought about anything, vegetables were shoved into her arms and the pair pushed her onward with them.

“Do you do this often?” Lauren questioned. Pippin went on further ahead, and while stepping over her slightly-too-long fleece pajama bottoms and with the other guy pushing against her back she found it hard to keep up.

“All the time!” Pippin called back. “It’s such fun. I only wish Maggot would get rid of those dogs! They almost took off my foot one time.”

The guy pushing her along scoffed. “I think that’s the whole point of them, Pip – to keep us out of the crops.”

Pippin laughed slightly. “It’s going to take a lot more than a couple of vicious dogs to keep us from those mushrooms, eh Merry?”

All these names are from those movies! Now Lauren figured that she must be dreaming. But if she was, then why did her legs ache so badly from all this running? Why was she so short of breath?   

Barking. A dog was barking, or a couple of dogs. Well, that can’t be good…

“Ah!” Merry squeaked. “The dogs! The dogs have caught up with us! Come on!”

For Lauren, a glance back was what did it. Two very large black dogs were chasing after them, growling and barking madly (for a split second, she could have sworn she saw them foaming at the mouth, but that might have just been her imagination) and she had no doubt that they would be able to tear off one or many limbs with little to no problem or hesitation. Lauren had never run as fast as she did then in all her life. After crawling under a wooden fence, running across a dirt road, through a patch of woods and up a tree only then did they stop. They stayed in the branches of the tree for a long while. The vegetables were hidden in a bush beside its base, the two dogs were barking and growling and snapping at them, trying to bite at the three’s dangling feet.

“So, having fun yet?” Merry asked from the branch above Lauren.

She glanced up at him with raised eyebrows but found herself nodding anyway. She gave a laugh. “You know, with the fact that we almost got eaten by dogs aside – this _is_ pretty fun.”

Sitting beside her, Pippin grinned, pumping one fist into the air and with his other hand ruffled her already messy hair. He almost lost his balance when he did this, the dogs below them barking and jumping in excitement about it, but Lauren steadied him before he could fall the long way down to the ground. “Had a feeling you’d like it,” Pippin said. He leaned over a bit and stuck his tongue out at the two dogs below. 

Merry rolled his eyes at his cousin and stuck a hand over Lauren’s shoulder. “I’m Merry, by the way,” he said. Lauren shook his hand a bit awkwardly due to the position they were in, but it couldn’t really be helped.

“Lauren,” she supplied.

Pippin took a mushroom out of one of his pockets and took a bite of it. “Odd name you have there,” he commented with his mouth full, succeeding in spraying bits of mushroom all over Lauren.

She wiped them off with a grimace. “Er… yum,” she said sarcastically, “Say it, don’t spray it, dude. And it’s not as if _your_ name isn’t weird.” Pippin gave her a confused look for a moment then shrugged before digging out another mushroom from a different pocket on his vest.

“Here, have a mushroom!” he said and threw it in her direction, hitting Lauren square in the face.

Merry chuckled whole-heartedly at Lauren’s flabbergasted expression. “He hit me!” she cried, pointing an accusing finger in Pip’s direction, “He had the nerve to hit me with a _mushroom_!”

“It wouldn’t have hit you if you had caught it,” Pippin said logically.

Lauren scowled at him before tossing the mushroom as far as she could, causing both Merry and Pippin to yell, “HEY!” at the same time and give her light smacks on her arm and the top of her head.

“What was that for?” Merry questioned with a pout as he watched Farmer Maggot’s two dogs dash after the thrown mushroom and out of sight.

Lauren swatted their hands away and simply said, “We couldn’t very well sit in a tree all day,” before climbing back down to the ground.

 

* * *

 

“Where are you taking me?” Lauren questioned for the umpteenth time. She had been following the two guys she had met sometime earlier for a while now, her arms full of the vegetables. Her feet were cut up and blistering from all the running away from dogs and walking through woods without shoes and whatnot. Judging by where the sun was in the sky, she could take a guess that the time had slipped into early afternoon. Lauren never felt this out of place or so utterly confused in all of her life.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“We’ve just passed into the borders of Buckland,” Merry answered with a smile, “We’re almost at Brandy Hall now.”

“Brandy Hall? Buckland? Where’s that?” Lauren asked again. Lauren couldn’t possibly fathom why both Merry and Pippin had started laughing at the question, but obviously they found it hilarious. Frankly, the fact they were laughing at her ticked her off.

“Why, in the Shire, of course!” Pippin said as if it the most obvious thing in the world.

Lauren sighed. “Stop playing, okay? Don’t you mean New Hamp _shire_?”

Merry gave her a worried glance. “Are you all right?” he asked with a frown.

“Bah! She’s fine,” Pippin said as he waved a carrot in the air and stuck it out in front of him like a sword. It really was quite a sight to see with him practically juggling vegetables in his other arm. “It’s just those stupid dogs. The first real rush, eh? It can really mess your head a bit the first few times. Remember, cousin?”

Merry nodded. “Aye, I suppose you’re right,” he smirked. “Perhaps that’s why you can be a complete dunderhead at times, Pip. We’ve done it so many times it’s most likely too much _rush_ for your system.” At this, Pippin promptly whacked Merry over the head with his carrot sword. 

All three of them laughing, they continued on and soon saw a rather large house not far off. To Lauren it looked like a rustic, old fashioned house built into a hill, but the fact that it seemed as big as a mansion made it even more impressive. “That’s Brandy Hall,” Merry said with a hint of pride.

“Hell,” Lauren commented. “You live there?”

“Aye, I do,” Merry confirmed, “While Pip here lives over in Tookborough. We still manage to cause enough trouble together, though. Now come on and follow me. We’ll go in through the back.”

“Nooo,” Pippin complained as they hopped a stack of wood so large it looked to be a fence. “Not the back way, it takes so much longer and I’m _starving_.”

“Stop whining, Pip, you know my mum’s got guests today, and we can’t very well go through the front door with our nicked food to show off what we’ve got. She’d have my head,” Merry said and led them through the trees behind his house. Once they reached the back wall, they ducked below the windows as they crept along, making sure to remain out of sight. 

Merry opened the round wooden door that led down into the cellar. “Lasses first,” he said and ushered them all in before closing the doors behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

“Ow! Stop stepping on my foot!” Lauren said.

“Sorry,” was Pippin’s reply.

“Indeed,” a woman’s voice said. “You had better be sorry, Peregrin Took. You as well, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” she said sternly.

“Hello, mum,” Merry murmured.

A light turned on, a little oil lamp Lauren could see the woman was holding. She was standing on the other side of the cellar, one hand on her hip while the other supported the oil lamp. Now that she could see the woman’s face, Lauren noticed Merry took after his mother a lot. He had the same coloring as she, light brown hair and eyes. Merry’s mum had a pointier nose than her son, much like Pippin’s, and Lauren would learn sometime later it was a trait from the Tookish part of the family.

“You boys were out at that crop _again_? And you dragged this poor lass along with you? Oh, you poor dear. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted you meeting some nice lasses, Meriadoc,” she continued on, shaking a finger in her son’s direction.

“Mum… ” Merry started to say warningly, but his mother waved him off.

“Now come along, my dear,” she said, motioning for Lauren to follow her, “You look a right mess. Let’s get you a proper outfit to change into, eh?”

Shrugging to herself, Lauren dumped the vegetables she was carrying on top of Pippin and followed the woman up a small set of stairs and to the main area of the house, where she almost got run over by a group of children playing tag. They giggled at her as they ran by, and some even stopped to tug on her arms.

“Come play, come play!” a little dark haired boy squealed.

“Yes, come play!” a girl piped in from beside him. She looked to be the boy’s older sibling. “You’re a friend of cousins Merry and Pip, aren’t you?” she asked brightly, bouncing on her toes. (The whole lot of them were barefoot, something Lauren still couldn’t seem to understand.)

“Uh… yeah,” Lauren replied slowly.

The two of them started giggling again. “Now Daisy and Doderic, what have I told you about playing tag in the house?” Merry’s mum reprimanded gently.

“Sorry Auntie ‘Ralda,” they chorused.

‘Ralda’ gave them a small smile and said, “Now off you go now, she can always play with you some other time.” The two pouted a bit but did as they were told and went on their way. “What’s your name, dear?” she asked, leading Lauren through the house.

“Lauren,” she replied.

“That’s nice. Different, but nice. You can call me Esmeralda, dear, and you’re welcome over anytime you like,” Esmeralda said. “It’s wonderful the lads have taken a liking to a lass such as yourself. It’s good for them to have some female influence other than me, you know.” She led Lauren into a small bedroom and rummaged through a chest of drawers. “Aha!” she said and pulled out a short-sleeved dress with a quilted skirt. “Try this on, dear; it should fit well enough.” Esmeralda practically bounced out of the room after handing the dress over to her, leaving Lauren standing there in the middle of the room feeling slightly like a lost puppy.

_What is going on?_ Lauren thought to herself. There were so many questions that weren’t being answered. Could she really be where she thought she was? _But that’s impossible._

After checking to make sure the door was closed, she pulled her sweatshirt over her head and threw the rest of her pajamas in a ball on the floor before slipping into the dress. Surprisingly, it actually did happen to fit her, and she spun around, loving how the skirt flowed around her.  

She paused when a knock sounded at the door. “Are you done in there yet?” came Pippin’s impatient voice from out in the hall.

“We want to take you to the Green Dragon with us to make up for helping us back there like that,” Merry piped in as well.

_Or maybe it isn’t so impossible…_

“Coming!” Lauren said excitedly, grabbing her clothes off the floor and tucking them under her arm. She wasn’t sure what type of place this Green Dragon was, but as she went out into the hall and saw the two of them leaning against the wall with their hands in their pockets and grins on their faces, she found that she trusted them; regardless of the fact that she barely knew them. For some odd reason that she couldn’t explain, she trusted them – and at the moment that was good enough for her.


	4. Of Travelers and Green Dragons

**You’re My Light in the Dark**

_Chapter 4:_ _Of Travelers and Green Dragons_

The first thing I noticed was nice, comfy warmth. I snuggled deeper into it, and that’s when everything came whirling back to me. _The forest. Hobbiton. Frodo._ My eyes snapped open. Oh _God_.

I was in a bed; a large quilt was thoughtfully draped over me and pulled up to my chin. There was a candle lit on the nightstand, the room growing dark. The room I found myself in was sparsely furnished with the bed, the nightstand, and a small chest of drawers in the corner. Slipping out of bed, careful to stay up on my toes, I went to the window and fell in love with the scene; the sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange, purple, and pink glow as it dipped over the horizon. I had never seen such a dramatic sunset before. Then it dawned on me; it was already dusk… how long had I been out?

I went to the door and out of the room into the hallway. Everything felt so surreal. Could I really be in Middle Earth? But how?

“Hello?” I called out hesitantly. At the end of the hallway I came upon another. This one seemed to be the entrance hall of the home, or so I assumed once I saw the large and very round green front door. _Bag End,_ I realized with awe, _I’m in Bag End!_ I turned a corner to find a room cluttered with many desks and chairs. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and sitting in an armchair in front of the glowing hearth was a dark haired hobbit bent over a book, his blue eyes shifting across the pages as he read. Frodo looked so peaceful. Being a Tolkien and Lord of the Rings fan, I kicked myself for not recognizing him as a hobbit. How had I missed the pointed ears? I was just so startled when I realized where I was… and I fainted. I can’t believe I fainted, either. I’ve never done so in my life, until now at least. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment. I fainted on him. Poor guy – er, hobbit.

I didn’t want to disturb him; I must have done enough of that already today. But I had to face him sooner or later, I knew that; and besides, I needed to thank him and apologize. I stood in the rounded doorway, smiling a bit at the oddity, and knocked on the wood. Frodo didn’t even look up at the sound. I crept into the room, and stood right behind his chair. Resting my chin on the back of the chair, I peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of what he was so wrapped up in reading. I couldn’t read a word of it. Some of the letters I recognized, but for the most part the script was, what looked like to me, just a bunch of symbols. _Must be Elvish lore_ , I thought.

“Good book?” I asked. The poor hobbit was so startled; he jumped out of the chair and quite nearly sent the book in the flames as he did so. He visibly relaxed when he saw it was only me.

Frodo put a hand through his hair and laughed at himself. “You startled me.”

“Yeah, I saw. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Frodo waved my apology off with a wave of his hand and threw the book on one of the desks. “How long was I out for?”

“A few hours at the least,” he replied, and then looked toward the windows. “Blast, I was supposed to meet Sam…”

I fidgeted, ringing my hands up in the pockets of my sweatshirt. What was I supposed to do now? And it’s not like I could just tell him about my situation, he’d probably think I was insane. Heck, maybe I am. “Er… look, I’m terribly sorry about earlier. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Frodo said. He went around the room and snuffed out all the candles that were lit. Eventually all were out, leaving just the fireplace alight. He went over to the mantel, grasping a pitcher and dumping the contents over the fire, putting that out as well. “How are you feeling?”       

“Better,” I replied, not entirely sure how much truth was actually behind the statement. I lowered my heels to the floor hesitantly, biting back the cry of pain that threatened to escape my lips. Pain would have to wait and be ignored. I had much more pressing matters at hand to deal with – like, say, my sanity? Besides, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to ignore pain.

With the fires out, we were left in darkness. Shadows shifted across the walls. I could hear Frodo’s feet shuffling across the wooden flooring. Just as I was beginning to contemplate what exactly I was going to do about my current situation, it was then that Frodo asked an unexpected question that brought things in an even more unexpected direction. Or, at least, it was something I never would’ve imagined he’d ask me.

“I’m going to meet a friend at the Green Dragon, would you like to come?”

 

* * *

 

So that was how I found myself walking through the crisp autumn evening air, walking with Frodo Baggins to the Green Dragon pub. He had insisted I tag along with him, said that he’d like to get to know me better. Not that I couldn’t say the same, I mean, I was with someone I had thought to be a fictional character.

“So, Kate…” Frodo began; you could see his breath in the cold air, “Where are you from?”

“Far away,” I replied vaguely. “Very far away.”

He chuckled at my reply. “Well, I like your accent, in any case. I’ve never heard one like that before.”

He was of course talking about the Boston accent I had acquired over the years of doing gymnastics down in Massachusetts. Even though my teammates all had slight ones of their own, they always found it hilarious that I had one and never let me forget it.

“Thank you, I’m glad someone does,” I said with a smile, inwardly wondering how I could understand him at all. English isn’t supposed to be spoken in Middle Earth, as far as I knew. I should be grateful there’s no language barrier, but it still left me wondering how the only difference in speech was our accents – his own accent reminding me vaguely of a bobbing Irish brogue, though not quite.

“And what brings you to the Shire from very _fahh_ away?” Frodo teased lightly, mimicking my lack of ability to pronounce a proper R.

“Luck, I suppose,” I replied absentmindedly.

We reached Hobbiton’s town square; it had only been a few minutes walk from Bag End. I could see the Green Dragon, hobbits milling in and out. “Is this place always this busy?” I asked, trying to set the conversation in another direction.

“Oh yes,” he replied as we made our way into the pub, “Best ale in the Shire, so hobbits from all over come here.”

The Green Dragon did indeed live up to every standard the books had set and then some. While reading the books or even watching the movies, nothing compared to actually _being there_. At every table there were hobbits drinking, laughing, smoking, and in general just having a good time for themselves. In the far corner there was a counter, behind it were mugs and glasses piled up beside huge barrels, which I assumed were filled with the famous ale.

Frodo nudged my shoulder. “Come on, then!” he said with an excited grin, grabbing me by the hand, and pulling me through the crowd. Hobbits who weren’t dead drunk stopped and stared, whispering to each other or shook their heads at us as we passed. Well, perhaps they were doing that because of me. I glanced down at my clothes, at the baby blue fleece pants and my gigantic hooded sweatshirt. Every woman I saw had on a dress or skirts. Yup, that was probably what the fuss was about. I felt like the odd one out.

“Just ignore them!” Frodo said, pausing for a moment and letting go of my hand.

“What?”

Frodo nodded his head at the staring passersby. “Town gossips, I mean,” he clarified, “Just try your best to ignore them. They talk about anyone and everyone about anything, and half of it ain’t true. Tell someone a little something about yourself ‘round here and soon enough everyone will think they know your whole life story.”

“You know this from personal experience?” I asked and all he did was give a dry laugh.

A barmaid came whizzing by, and although she was working, she seemed to be having a blast. Carrying a large tray of ale filled mugs; she was spinning around and dancing to the beat of some little tune she was humming to herself as she served the customers their drinks. She twirled around again and would’ve ran right into us if Frodo hadn’t steadied her.

“Ah!” the barmaid squeaked. Using the free hand that wasn’t holding a tray, she brushed her blonde curly hair out of her face. “Oh, hi Frodo!” she greeted brightly. “Sorry, have to get going and get these served! One for each of you, I take it?” she said, and with a wink, she off again.

Frodo shook his head and laughed. “That’s Rosie,” he explained.

A few minutes later, we finally found the table we were looking for. I automatically recognized Sam with his sandy colored head, smoking pipe-weed. Across from him was a mousy looking girl, she had a round face with small features and her very dark hair was a mass of shoulder length curls.   

The girl smiled widely as she saw us approach and poked Sam to get his attention. “Mister Frodo!” Sam greeted.

“Hello, Frodo,” the girl said as well.

“Lily, Sam,” he returned, nodding at them. “This here’s Kate. She’s a traveler.”

“Really now?” the girl named Lily questioned. She eyed me up and down, still smiling brightly. “Well, that must be interesting, and you’ve already done my life’s goal I see.”

“Which is?” I asked.

“To actually get out of the home wearing trousers,” she responded. “My mother would have a fit if she saw me wearing your attire; and believe me, I’ve tried it. I like you already, Kate, seems like you’ve got spirit, unlike many of the hobbits ‘round here. Here, take a seat!” Lily pulled out the seat next to her then yanked me into it.

Sam shook his head and breathed out a puff of smoke, but smiled nonetheless. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s only got the spirit for mischief, only doing things if she knows it will drive her mother cracked.”

Lily huffed and nodded. “But of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, what d’you expect after one has five older brothers?”

“For the only lass in the family to act like the little lady she should,” Frodo replied smartly and promptly received a smack on the arm for it. “Ah! I wasn’t being serious, you know!"

Lily smiled sweetly at him. “I know, but I never give up the chance to hit someone, especially you, Mister Baggins.”

“Thanks,” he commented dryly.

Rosie came around with our drinks not long after. She handed each of us a mug, this being Lily and Sam’s second. “What’s your name, then?” Rosie asked.

“You can call me Kate,” I said.

“Good to meet you and I hope to be seeing you more,” she said and then left after getting another order yelled to her from another table. I couldn’t help but notice how Sam stared after Rosie as she left, dancing about to her little tune once again.

Lily giggled. “Sam fancies _her_ ,” she said in a stage whisper, looking pointedly at Sam and waiting for his reaction. She wasn’t disappointed. His head whipped back around front and he frowned long and hard at her before taking another sip of ale. The three of us laughed as Sam continued to ignore us for the next few minutes.

Lily reminded me so much of how Jill and my little sister, Lauren, were. How they were playful and refused to do anything by the rules. But they weren’t here, were they? No. That thought made me feel lonely. They had been my best friends, my family. Would I ever see them again?

I glanced down at my mug of ale, swirling the liquid around. Lily’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “So, Kate, what do you do? Besides travel that is? And where have you been?”

“Er…” I mumbled a bit awkwardly. I took a small sip of the ale, which was a tad stronger than I had expected it to be, and coughed as it went down. What was I supposed to say? I (very stupidly) hadn’t thought up the answers to these questions. I should have known they would be curious about this type of information. I fidgeted nervously as the three waited for my answer. “Well, I’ve been learning how to do acrobatics. Like flips, spins, and cartwheels… that sort of thing; though what I’ve been doing is a bit more dangerous than that,” I said, a bit put out I couldn’t explain myself better than that.

Lily leaned forward in her seat. “Acrobatics, eh? That’s certainly not something you hear everyday! Sounds like fun! Perhaps you could give us a demonstration some time,” she commented, giving me a little shoulder-to-shoulder nudge.

“Maybe,” I said absentmindedly. Lily flashed me a mischievous grin, one that I found looked oddly suiting on her features, as if it belonged there, and she got to her feet.

“Ah, what a day this has been! But I must be off! Mayhem to cause before I’m expected home and all that,” Lily said then nodded in my direction. “Pleasure meeting you, Kate, I do hope you’ll be staying here a while. Good evening to you too, Frodo,” she said.

“And to you,” Frodo replied.

Lily turned to say goodbye to Sam, only to find that his attention was rather occupied with watching Miss Rosie Cotton once more. Smiling a bit to herself, she grabbed the mug sitting in front of Sam, dashing away while calling back, “Haha! This is the second time I’ve gotten you this week, Mister Gamgee!” and getting lost in the crowd.

Sam snapped out of his trance abruptly and jumped up as well. “That Proudfoot!” he muttered with a frown, “Not again! She can’t keep doing this! I must go and fetch that, Mister Frodo. I’ll be seeing you!” And with that, he was off hightailing it after Lily.

Frodo chuckled. “Lily’s a bit much at times, but she means well. She’s been driving poor Sam nuts ever since she found out he fancies Miss Rosie.”

I nodded. “I can see that. She reminds me of my little sister. That’s exactly the sort of thing that she’d do.”

Frodo took a swig of his ale before setting it with a _clunk_ on the table. “Where is she? Your sister, I mean.”

That was a very good question. I can’t imagine she’d actually be here in Middle Earth too, though I admit that the idea had crossed my mind. A selfish part of me wished she was, just so that I wouldn’t be so alone here, and so that I would know I wasn’t crazy. But the possibility of that happening was slim to none. I mean, it was amazing enough I was here… “We’ve gotten separated,” I said slowly, “So I can’t really be sure.”

He gave me an understanding look. “You miss her, don’t you?”

I nodded again. “Terribly.”

Silence fell over the table, though it was far from uncomfortable. Frodo seemed to understand how I felt, or at least to some extent, and left me to my thoughts. My mind was racing, not really sure what to ponder first. Of course there were the obvious questions of how I had gotten here in Middle Earth and then why? Was I now a hobbit? I had noticed back at Bag End that Frodo was taller than me, which knowing that hobbits are less then four feet tall, should have been a physical impossibility at my normal height of five feet.

This has officially been the weirdest and most confusing day of my entire life. I wondered when I would wake from this horrible joke of a dream.

“Oi, Pip! Watchhh where you’re steppin’!”

I glanced up, my eyebrows furrowed. It was as if my ears were playing cruel tricks on me or maybe perhaps, by a small chance of fate, my wish for a sign or any piece of my sanity and life was being granted. I could recognize that voice anywhere, even if what they said was slurred.

I turned in my seat. That was when I saw her: _Lauren_. Her dirty blonde hair was out of its braid, falling down to her chin in waves. And she was dancing on top of a table with two other hobbits, clinking their mugs together and laughing with drunken glee.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, but had to laugh nonetheless.

“Hmm? You know them?” Frodo asked, seeing who I was looking at.

“At least one of them, though I have a good idea who the other two are,” I replied. “That’s my sister.” I got up from my seat in a sort of daze, walking over to them slowly, as if this dream may shatter.

The three didn’t even realize I was there standing in front of them, they were too preoccupied with their almost empty ale mugs. “I hope you drank wisely,” I said loudly to catch my sister’s attention, “We’re out of Advil.”

Lauren froze, glancing down slowly. “Kat?!” she exclaimed, completely surprised. Her eyes immediately lit up, and shoving her mug into Pippin’s hands she jumped down with less than her usual grace, staggering slightly, and hugged me tight.

“It’s you, it’s really you!” she practically whispered. I heard her sniffle and I knew she had started crying. Lauren pulled back from the embrace and wiped her tears with the back of her hand, smiling a bit.

Nothing was making any sense. Reality as I knew it was turned upside down and was mocking me, but through it all, here she was; and that’s all I cared about.

“Yes, it’s me,” I found myself grinning as well. “What’s wrong?” I questioned.

Lauren shook her head and motioned to our surroundings. “What isn’t?” she countered, rolling her eyes as if the question was ridiculous. “What is going on?”

I shrugged in response. I didn’t know. And at the moment it seemed as if all the problems that were bugging me just a short while earlier didn’t matter anymore. Lauren was here. And I wasn’t going crazy. That was all I could get myself to care about.

 


	5. Settling In

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 5:  Settling In_  
  
  
      
The next morning Lauren and I woke up early.  Frodo offered to let us stay in Bag End for the night.  I hadn’t wanted to, I had intruded upon him enough as it was, but it wasn’t as if we had much choice in the matter.  After putting something together for breakfast, which was the least we could have done for Frodo’s generous hospitality, Lauren and I sat at the kitchen table drinking tea while we waited for Frodo to wake up.  
  
“What are we supposed to do?” Lauren asked.  “This is crazy!  _How... why?_   You fell down the stairs, and I thought you had died, broken your neck or something, you know that?  You were so cold.  And I kept yelling for mom to come see you, to get you help, but no matter how much I banged on the basement door she wouldn’t come.  I got you onto one of the couches and sat with you for a while, but I must’ve fallen asleep because next thing I remember is waking up in a damn field.  What the hell did you do?”  
  
I sighed.  “Long story short: I talked back to Vali during practice and he manhandled me.  Jill’s mom stepped in and yelled at him.  I talked back to mom when she started yelling at me the minute I walked in the door.  Then it was to the basement… and you know the rest.”  I paused for a moment, thinking, and then frowned at her when something clicked.  “Why were you already in the basement?”  
  
Lauren shrugged.  “Mom found my stash of granola bars.  Called me a fat ass, the whole nine yards.  Claimed that I don’t care about the sacrifices she makes for _my skating_ since I can’t sacrifice at all.  She seems to forget that eating is kind of a necessity.”  
  
A moment passed in silence as we both contemplated our mother, and what our situation would mean for her.  But it was barely a passing thought.  We needed to focus on more important things.    
  
“I can’t believe we’re here,” Lauren finally murmured, glancing around the hobbit hole, at its quaintness.  “This place isn’t even real…”  
  
“We’re here, aren’t we?  And we’re real.  So we happen to find ourselves in a make-believe story… things could be worse,” I replied.  “Besides, I think we have more pressing dilemmas other than debating our sanity.”   
  
Lauren snorted.  “Of course you would say that, Kat!  This must be a dream come true for you!  Let me remind you that I only read those damn books and watched the movies because of you.  I wasn’t into it as much as you were.”    
  
“I know that,” I said, “But who knows how long we’re going to be here for?  We might as well make the best of it and not lose our heads.  And besides, you might even like it here.”  
  
Lauren crossed her arms over her chest and sighed.  “Okay, fine, I’ll play along with this insane situation we’re in.  But what do you propose we do?”      
  
“Well, first off, I think we need to find work.  We need money, and without it we’re pretty much screwed.  We need it to buy clothes, food, and lodging,” I said, ticking off the list on my fingers before taking a small sip of tea, “And perhaps if we pool our money together we’ll have enough to scrape by.”  
  
“Where do you expect us to find jobs?” Lauren questioned with an eyebrow raised.  “Did you even notice the looks people were giving us?  I doubt anyone will hire us.  Plus, how old do we have to be?”  
  
I bit my lip.  That I didn’t know.  I was turning seventeen in a few weeks and Lauren was fifteen.  Were teenagers in the real world the equivalent to a hobbit’s tweens?  And if so, did hobbits even hire tweens?  “I have no idea how old we have to be,” I replied, “But they were only looking at me like that because of the way I was dressed.”  I smiled wryly, “Bright blue _‘trousers’_ and all that.”  
  
“Still,” Lauren said and threw her hands up in the air, laughing dryly.  “Yup, we’re screwed.”  
  
“What do you mean by that?” a voice from the doorway asked, “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that saying before.”  We turned to see Frodo smiling at us as he made his way into the kitchen and sat himself down at the table next to me.  
  
“Screwed?” Lauren commented, “Have you ever heard of the saying ‘Up a creek without a paddle’?  It’s sort of like that, though when I use it I usually mean ‘shit out of luck.’”  She took a sip of the tea and grimaced at the taste, being the coffee drinker she usually was.    
  
Frodo laughed and shook his head.  “Do you curse often?” he asked looking between the two of us as he grabbed a piece of toast.  
  
“It’s a bad habit,” both of us explained in unison, our voices devoid of an apology.  
  
Obviously not expecting that sort of an answer from two lasses, he choked on his toast.  “I see,” he somehow managed to say with a slight incredulous laugh.  
  
“And we really can’t thank you enough for letting us stay here last night, Frodo,” I said, Lauren nodding as well.  
  
“Really, it wasn’t a problem,” he insisted.  “We have more than enough room and I’d rather you stay here than nowhere at all.  And thank you for breakfast,” he gave us another grin.  “Do you have anything planned for today?”  
  
Lauren shook her head.  “Just going to look around town,” she replied.    
  
“I could show you around,” he offered.    
  
“No, it’s okay,” I said with a smile, “You don’t have to do that.  We’ve been enough of a burden as it is.”

 

* * *

 

Hobbiton was mostly farmland, with rolling green hills and crops as far as the eye could see.  “It’s beautiful, in its own way,” Lauren commented.  I couldn’t help but agree.  
  
Hobbiton’s town square was noticeably busier than the evening before.  With the sun up it was easier to really appreciate the architecture of the small buildings around.  The market was going on, many carts were lined up in the streets displaying their merchandise and all of the small shops in the square had their doors open to invite their customers in.  The only words that came to mind to describe it all were quaint and cozy.  The atmosphere was amazing, thick with good cheer and there was a palpable innocence hanging about the place that I hadn’t taken the time to notice the night before.    
  
The two of us had decided to split up.  While Lauren headed toward the Green Dragon, I made my way into one of the shops.  I stumbled upon a cloth store first, which happened to be owned by Lily’s aunt.  I knew this because an excited Lily was working there when I arrived and practically pounced on me when I walked in.  
  
Lily’s aunt, Angelica, was a kind hobbit.  She had dark curly hair, much like Lily’s, and pretty hazel eyes.  “Hello there,” Angelica said as Lily introduced us.  “What can I do for you?”  
  
“I was wondering if you needed any help around the shop?”     
  
“Are you looking for work, dear?” she asked kindly.  I nodded, feeling a bit nervous as she glanced me over once more and bit her lip in thought.  “Well, I do need help organizing the orders and fabrics, and dropping off some orders…”  
  
After she asked a few questions about me, all of which I answered very carefully, lest I give too much about my true origins away; in the end Angelica had given me a job — albeit a small one — but it was a job and I was thankful nonetheless.  Lily, having finished her work for the day, dragged me out of the shop by the arm.  
  
“So you are staying here after all!” she grinned excitedly as we walked around the square, dodging other passerbys, “When I heard you’re a traveler I’d figured you’d only be here for a few days before continuing on your way as the Baggins’ foreign friends usually do.”  
  
I forced a meek smile.  “I’m not sure how long I’m going to be staying, but this seems like a friendly enough town so I thought about staying for a bit at least.  I only met Mister Baggins just yesterday, though.”  
  
“Oh?” Lily looked surprised.  “Is that so?”  
  
I nodded.  “I had gotten separated from my sister and had gotten lost in the woods on the outskirts of this town and—”  
  
“Your sister?” Lily cut in.    
  
“We’d been traveling together,” I answered, piecing together a half lie, “And we got separated.  I just so happened to stumble upon Frodo by chance and he offered to show me the way into town, and invited me to join him at the Green Dragon.”  
  
After a moments thought, Lily smiled and nodded a bit, “He’s always been such a gentlehobbit like that, very caring and thoughtful of everyone.”    
  
The two of us wound up in front of the Green Dragon pub, and with a sigh, I leaned against the rock wall in the square, stationing myself directly across from the pub’s front door.  Might as well wait for Lauren here, I figured.    
  
“Are you staying with Frodo?” Lily asked.  
  
“We had last night, my sister and I, I mean.  Though I’d rather not put Frodo out any longer.  He’s been so nice to us and I hate depending on people like that, on practically a stranger no less,” I replied, biting my lower lip in thought.  
  
“That’s why you wanted the job,” Lily stated.  I nodded in return.  “And your sister, she…” she trailed off.  
  
I nodded again, motioning to pub we were standing in front of.  “Went to try and find work here,” I finished.  A silence fell between the two of us, Lily shifting from one foot to the other as she glanced up at the pale blue sky.  
  
“I’m here, you know, if you ever need anything,” Lily said, not lowering her gaze from the heavens, “I know I don’t know you that well and haven’t even met your sister yet, but I’d like to be your friend if that’s all right.”  
  
Her words gave me comfort.  That perhaps this whole situation Lauren and I found ourselves in wouldn’t be so bad after all.  I flashed her a smile.  “Thanks, Lily.  I’d like that.”  Lily returned the grin, when all of a sudden, the front door to the pub slammed open revealing a very proud looking Lauren.  She sauntered over to me in a little jig, humming merrily to herself.  Lauren was a bit taller than me, still even now at our new ‘hobbit height’, and she came up behind me, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug as she leaned her weight on my shoulders.    
  
“Guess who’s a new barmaid!” she grinned, bouncing on her toes.  
  
“Good for you,” I muttered, “Now would you please stop choking me?”  
  
“My older sister is so grumpy!” Lauren pouted playfully, obliging my request only to give me a nogie atop the head.  I scowled at her, rubbing the abused spot.  She then proceeded to stick her tongue out at me, before nearly biting it off at the priceless look of both shock and happiness on Lily’s face at my sister’s antics.  “Who’s this?” Lauren asked suspiciously, shoving a thumb in Lily’s direction.  Suspiciously, I say, because after our little discussion this morning, Lauren had decided that aside from Merry, Pippin, and Frodo, she didn’t entirely trust hobbits much.  
  
_“Any society where people are so close-minded about other cultures that they shun them, I don’t entirely have much respect for,”_ she had said earlier.  
  
_“It’s not so much different back home, Laur,”_ I had pointed out.  
  
_“Still!”_ she insisted, _“It must be a conspiracy!  How can the women around here want to wear nothing but dresses?  They must be_ brain washed _or_ something, _since pants are way more comfortable!”_  
  
I had to roll my eyes at that one.  _“I think it has to do with what they think is proper attire for a lady.  Besides, they’ve grown up wearing them all the time, like we grew up to wear pants all the time, so perhaps, to them, they are comfortable.”_  
  
Lauren, however, didn’t entirely see my reasoning, and as she glanced at Lily with an almost evil eye now (which I’m sure wasn’t directed at Lily at all, but more at the dress she wore) I could tell that she was going to go into a whole women’s rights speech if I didn’t cut in soon.  
  
“Lily, this is my sister Lauren.  And Laur, Lily’s actually a lot like you, so I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”  The raised eyebrow Lauren sent my way was a tell tale sign that she was very doubtful of that, so I elaborated, “She’s friends with Frodo, Merry, and Pippin.”  
  
That in itself seemed to quell at least some of her previous suspicions of poor Lily, seeing as it was plain that not just any normal hobbit hung around the two trouble makers and their ‘crack pot’ of a cousin.  So Lauren sent a smile her way, seeming to accept her a bit more.

 

* * *

 

Later on that evening found Lauren and I trekking our way back up to Bag End with our arms laden with quite a few different dresses, all hand-me-downs from the very awesome Lily.  Lily, you see, was very much like her fellow hobbits.  While undeniably gorgeous, she was definitely a lot bigger – rounder – than either Lauren or I were.  In fact, the ‘issue’ revolving weight around here had exactly the opposite mentality of what it was like at home.  Back home, it had always been a problem if you weren’t what people considered skinny.  Here in the Shire, the majority of the women were plump and completely adorable.  
  
This left my sister and me, the two hardcore competitive athletes that we are, to be the odd ones out in yet another respect.  “Dainty” is what Lily called us, taking note of our skinniness.  Not that we were entirely complaining about this, seeing as it happened to help us out a lot in the long run; for if it hadn’t been for Lily’s generosity or our slim frames, we wouldn’t have been able to afford anything else to wear.  
  
After arranging the new wardrobe in our shared room, we had a little talk with Frodo.  He firmly insisted that we stay in Bag End with him, at least until the two of us got on our feet.  We offered to do house work – hobbit-hole work? – in compensation, to which he waved us off, saying it was really unnecessary, but ended up reluctantly agreeing in the end when we refused to back off about it.  
  
We went off to bed not long after, Frodo bidding us goodnight from his door down the hall from ours.  That night, as it turned out, happened to be a long one.  The two of us stared at the blank darkness of what I knew to be the ceiling for quite awhile, neither of us saying a word.  I could tell Lauren couldn’t fall asleep either, for her breath was uneven and she kept on fidgeting uncomfortably every so often, as if her thoughts troubled her so much that they made her want to squirm about.  
  
At long last, Lauren heaved a heavy, almost bone weary sigh.  It seemed to have come from deep within her soul, as if her body was trying to expel the emotional stress it’s been under the past two days.  
  
“This… this is a good thing, right Kat?”  
  
I had been asking myself that very same question, and thus far haven’t been unable to answer it.  We had been plucked from a life we had been so familiar with, a difficult life sure, but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that we truly were here in Middle Earth.  Or perhaps I put that the wrong way.  For there was no denying that we were here, the proof was everywhere – right down to the hair on our suddenly very large and awkward feeling feet.  I suppose the only thing that truly bothered me was that I didn’t know the reason why we had found ourselves here; how it had happened, why we were the ones that had been chosen for the odd situation – if in fact we had been chosen at all.  
  
“I dunno, Lauren,” I replied, feeling a bit sorry for not being able to give her the reassurance she desired.  “But I’m sure this will all work out in the end.”

 

 

 


	6. Of Insanity and Ratscrews

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 6: Of Insanity and_ _Ratscrews_  
  
  
  
Adjusting to this different lifestyle was incredibly odd.  It wasn’t easy.  About a week after our reunion at the Green Dragon, Lauren, in one of her half-awake states, had even looked for a vacuum at one point while tidying up Bag End.  After I wished her luck in finding one in this world without electricity, she then cursed the stupid fates that had decided to mess with her head – before proceeding to bang said head against the wall for a good length of time.  Trying to make light of the situation, I had then commented on the fact that losing brain cells was only going to mess up that head of hers even more.  She hadn’t been amused.  
  
We found that we craved certain things we never thought we’d miss all that much, things that we had once taken for granted.  The major staples of modern day life in the twenty-first century (such as televisions and cars, for example) were easier to let go, since we were prepared and had let them go the minute we realized we were in Middle Earth.  It was the little, insignificant items that really got to us, though; the sorts of things you never gave a second thought about until you went to use it and it wasn’t there for you to use.  It feels as if we’ve gone on a permanent vacation – and in a way, I suppose we have – only our luggage never made the trip.  Oh, the random things we miss: Listerine, Oreos, fuzzy socks; the list goes on.  
  
And yet at the same time, it’s been a very relaxing change.  The two of us had lived hectic lives, running to and fro from gyms and ice rinks and somehow squeezing school work in between.  Getting pushed past our limits by unforgiving coaches, being sneered at and snubbed by supposed teammates, driving ourselves to push through fears and injuries in order to live up to both our mother’s and our coaches’ expectations  – it was a stressful lifestyle that ran on pure nerve alone.  And that sort of constant stress had worn us down to the point of utter exhaustion.  This phenomenon, of how we found ourselves here in this world, was like a breath of much needed fresh air.

 

* * *

 

 

“You can add cards to that list of yours,” Lauren called over to me, startling me out my reverie.  I was just cleaning up the remnants of afternoon tea, and after wiping the last cup dry; I set it back up in the cupboard.  I could only assume she was referring to The List of Random Objects to be Missed.  The two of them sat at the kitchen table, Frodo with curious wide eyes, my sister with the ever present playful gleam in hers.  
  
“Cards?  Really now,” I murmured, hanging the dish rag up to dry on the back of one of the chairs.  
  
“Yeah, as in a deck of cards.  Frodo here,” Lauren jabbed a thumb in the dark haired hobbit’s direction, “Has never played.”  She pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she sniffed a bit; putting on a whole theatrical show of her sad expression.  “You poor deprived child.”  She even had the gall to pat him on the head as she said this.  
  
“Are these cards as great as she’s making them out to be?” Frodo questioned, swatting the invading hands away.  
  
I chuckled at my sister’s affronted look.  “Lauren sure seems to think so,” I grinned.  And at that, she threw her hands up in the air with a huff.  
  
“Alright, that’s it – I’ll make my own damn cards; and you, Frodo Baggins, will play whether you like it or not.”  The playful gleam in her eyes had turned into a determined one at this point, and I could tell that Frodo was a bit surprised at the way she was acting.  Then again, I’m quite sure he’s never had to deal with people like us before – crazy American teenage girls that we are – so I could hardly blame him.  But he seemed to be more amused than anything else, so I suppose we weren’t bugging (or frightening) the hell out of him as badly as I feared we would.  
  
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.  “Is that an order?” he asked lightly, a hint of teasing in his voice.  
  
“You bet your ass it is!” she exclaimed forcefully, slamming a fist down upon the table, “That way, you’ll see for yourself just how awesome a game of cards can be!”  And with that, she stood up abruptly and dashed out of the room.  
  
The second she was gone, Frodo let out a laugh.  “She certainly has a lot of energy, eh?”  
  
“If you think she’s bad now, just wait till it’s her birthday,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.    
  
A grin tugged at his lips and after a moment or two, he fixed me with this calculating gaze.  It was an expression I’d seen him send in my direction a few times this past week since we started living with him.  I could tell there was something he wanted to say, to ask me, but he never voiced it, whatever it was; as if he wanted to try and figure it out on his own.  His electric blue eyes seemed to stare right into my very soul, and I was half-afraid that he was actually able to read my mind.  
  
“You’re a kind person, Kat; you and your sister both are,” he said at last, using Lauren’s nickname for me.  His eyes were still searching; it wasn’t an intrusive stare, or at least it didn’t seem as if he meant it to be, it was more of one that searched for an understanding.  “But, there’s something very different about the two of you.  I mean no offense, it’s just… you aren’t like any hobbits I’ve ever met before.”  
  
It didn’t slip by me that he had refrained from using the word ‘normal’ to describe other hobbits, nor did it surprise me.  While Lauren and I were as far from being ‘normal’ as could we be in any sense of the word, and how we really didn’t give a damn one way or another about it, I understood why he refused to actually mention the word aloud.  From what I’ve seen and heard so far in our short time here, I’ve gathered that Frodo and his uncle Bilbo aren’t all that popular because they aren’t considered to be what their fellow hobbits constitute as ‘normal.’    
  
I could also tell how much it actually bothered him.  
  
And because of this, I knew exactly what he was getting at.  I was mentally cringing at how I was going to have to skirt around the truth, but it couldn’t really be helped.  
  
“I bet,” I replied to him with a smile, leaning up against the counter.  “We’ve always been a bit crazy.”  
  
“You’re not—”  
  
“We’re odd enough,” I said, defending our insanity – _embracing_ it even.  
  
“That’s not what I meant,” he implored.  
  
Of course I already knew that; knew what he found to be so different about us.  But I couldn’t very well tell him about our whole situation.  Because then he’d _really_ think we were crazy, not to mention the horrible unknown fates that could possibly happen to the future of Middle Earth if I let that slip.  
  
It was then that Lauren not only came back into the kitchen, but also to my rescue.  “What didn’t you mean?” she asked, a stack of papers in one hand, a quill hanging out of an inkwell in the other.  
  
“He questions our insanity,” I clarified.  
  
Her left eye twitched.  “Ugh, the nerve!” she ground out, setting the inkwell on the table before giving Frodo a good whack over the head with the stack of papers.  “Honestly, Baggins, soon enough you’re going to change that opinion.”  
  
“I don’t think—” He never finished his train of thought, for she began hitting him with the papers again.  His arms had gone up to shield the top of his head, but alas, she had moved to other places, such as his face.  He spluttered, and then began to laugh whole-heartedly.  “Aye, I think you’re completely nutters!  _Please_ stop!”  
  
Frodo’s eyes were wide; he hadn’t been expecting the sudden attack and didn’t seem to know what to expect next.  I chuckled as well.  “Oi, Lauren, alright already.  Stop abusing the poor guy.”  
  
“Fine,” she sighed, as if by asking her to quit it was some big injustice, “But I don’t think he truly believes what he just said.”  She then gave him one last thwack for good measure before taking a seat at the table, waving at me to join them.  “Come on, sister dearest, don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.  Come help me make the cards.”  
  
I rolled my eyes heavenward… but complied, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting myself in it.  She shoved a piece of paper in my direction before turning back to the one she had already started folding into eighths.  Back and forth she folded it in each way possible and then made a nice clean rip right at the crease.  “I’ll do the reds, you do the blacks,” she notified me.  
  
“Alright, alright,” I said, getting to work on my own paper.  
  
Frodo looked on with curiosity etched all over his features.  “How exactly do you play this game?” he questioned.  
  
“It’s not limited to one game, really,” I said while piling up eight cards and grabbing another sheet, “It’s a set up that can be used for several different games.”  
  
“Solitaire, Poker, Bullshit,” Lauren rattled off absentmindedly, doodling some hearts in red ink.  Frodo glanced over to her sharply, eyebrows raised; and I had to laugh at his reaction.  I guess he still wasn’t used to hearing curses coming from a girl.  “What?” she asked innocently, “It’s the name of a game.”  
  
Frodo sighed dramatically then, dropping his head down to thud against the table.  I leaned over to pat his hand sympathetically, “I knew the crazy would get to you soon enough.”  He turned his head in order to fix me with an exasperated look, opening his mouth to say something when all of a sudden a knock sounded at the front door, rudely interrupting him.  “Look, I’ll go get that,” I offered, jumping up.  “Laur, why don’t you start going over the rules for whatever game you wanted to play.”  
  
The knock sounded again, louder this time.  My sister waved a hand at me.  “Yeah, sure,” she called as I retreated from the room and down the hall.  On my way I let out a heavy sigh, not altogether sure how I had managed to skirt around Frodo’s curiosity.  He's highly observant.  I had a feeling that we were going to have to be more careful around him; that we were going to have to try harder and learn faster at how to act in a more hobbitish manner.    
  
Opening the front door revealed two hobbits; one with a dirty blonde colored mop of hair, the other with a shade of light brown.  They were leaner than most of the hobbits I’ve met so far, and I noticed that they seemed a bit younger than Frodo -- perhaps they were even around the same age as Lauren and me, but I couldn’t be sure.  They stared at me for a moment, seemingly struck speechless as their eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  
  
“Er, hello,” I said awkwardly.  
  
The break of the silence seemed to jump-start the two of them, for the brunette immediately flashed a stunning smile.  “Hello!” He said brightly, taking me by the hand and giving it a vigorous shake.  “Looks like our cousin finally got himself a girl, eh Pippin?”  
  
I gaped at the hobbit that was still bobbing my hand up and down, and I could only assume that he was the Brandybuck of the inseparable duo.  “Uh, I’m not-”  
  
“You look familiar,” the dirty blonde – Pippin – commented, tilting his head to the side.  
  
And that’s when I realized that I’ve seen these two before, on that first night at the Green Dragon.  They were the ones that had been with Lauren!  
  
“I met you at the Green Dragon, remember?” I said to the strange boys standing on the doorstep.  
  
Head still tilted, Pippin shook it about in the negative.  “Sorry, lass, but I don’t.  Must’ve had _loads_ to drink that night…”  
  
“What he means to say is,” Merry piped up, “Is that you remind us of a lass we met a few days ago—”  
  
“The one with the odd name!”  
  
Merry shot his cousin a look and the Took at least had the decency to seem a little sheepish.  
  
“At any rate,” Merry continued, “She had helped us in a time of dire need.”  
  
I rolled my eyes and could only imagine what the hell the three could’ve been up to.  “I bet she did.  I’m Lauren’s older sister, Kate, by the way.”  
  
“Oh,” they chorused in understanding.  
  
I opened the door a little wider, giving the two a smile as I invited them in.  “Frodo’s in the kitchen with her, you know.  Since I’m guessing you’re here to visit him.”  
  
“Too right,” Pippin said, and they bounced in past me.  I shook my head as I closed the round green front door, having a feeling that the rest of the afternoon was going be _very_ interesting.

 

* * *

 

 

After the customary introductions went around – _“This here’s Merry and Pip I was telling you about...”_ – _“My cousins...”_ – etc, etc (which were entirely unnecessary but I nodded and smiled through them anyway); we were all forced into a game of cards.  
  
“The game is called Egyptian Rat’s Nest, gentlemen,” Lauren declared, shuffling our home-made cards.  She froze mid cut, frowning a bit.  “Gentlehobbits?  _Anyway_ ,” she went on, waving that particular line of thought aside, “It’s a card game similar to War.”  
  
“They don’t know how to play that either,” I but in, taking in the confused expressions of the three males.  
  
She rolled her eyes at me.  “I know that Kat, lemme _explain_ it.”  She grabbed a small section of the deck, keeping the cards in a pile face down on the table.  “Alright, the game of War is very simple.  Everyone has their own pile like this one here, and all you do is take the top card and put it in the middle of the table,” she flipped the top card of her pile so it was face up (it happened to be the 9 of clubs), “Like so.  See the number nine on the card?  The person with the _highest_ number wins and gets to keep all the cards that were flipped for that round.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo said.  “So the object of the game is to win all the cards away from everyone.”  
  
“Exactly,” Lauren beamed, pleased they seemed to understand.  
  
“You’re forgetting about face cards and battles,” I commented.  
  
Merry and Pippin’s eyes lit up with excitement at the mention of that.  “Battles?” Pippin questioned eagerly.  “What sorts of battles?”  
  
“Battley-battles of War!” she cried in response, going a little overboard with the theatrics as she waved her arms about.  “For instance, say: Kat, Frodo and I are playing and Frodo flips a two while Kat and I both flip a five-”  
  
“So you fight to the death to see who gets ‘em?” Merry asked quizzically.  
  
“Not quite,” I chuckled.  
  
“We have a battle,” Lauren corrected, “Where we both put three cards face down… for W… A… R… spells WAR!” and while she shouted war, she flipped a fourth card face up, revealing the two of diamonds.  “Dammit.  I probably would’ve lost that one, had we actually been playing.  Two’s the lowest number in the deck – and whoever has the _highest_ number on that fourth card there wins all the cards in the middle.”  
  
Merry clapped his hands, rubbing them together eagerly.  “Okay then, doesn’t sound too hard; let’s start playing!”  
  
“ _No no no no no_ ,” Lauren said really fast as if it was all one word, shaking her head and tutting a bit.  “We’re not playing War, I had only explained it because Egyptian’s Rat’s Nest is very a similar concept, only it’s a lot more fun.”  
  
“But… battles…” Pippin said woefully, seeming awfully upset at missing out on those so-called ‘battles’.  
  
Meanwhile, Frodo frowned, obviously still trying to understand how to play.  “This Rat game… it’s more complicated than that War game isn’t it?”  
  
“Yep,” Lauren and I drawled in unison.  
  
“It doesn’t actually _involve_ rats, does it?” he continued hesitantly, “Since I’m afraid I don’t have one of those.”  Oh, the look on his face was simply _priceless_.  Lauren and I couldn’t help ourselves; we broke into a mad fit of laughter.  I was even crying for goodness sake, and when I saw the three male’s looks of both confusion and concern, I quite nearly died.  
  
“Oho, my sides,” Lauren whined through her mirth, toppling out her chair with a plop.

 

* * *

 

 

Samwise Gamgee headed around toward Bag End’s back garden, in pursuit of the pruning sheers he must have forgotten there the other day when he finished tidying up the rose bushes under the kitchen window.  And just as he thought, there they sat beneath his well-kept roses, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.  Right when he bent down to retrieve the pruning sheers, he heard a resounding **_BANG!_** come from inside the hobbit-hole, closely followed by several pain-filled yells.  
  
Eyebrows furrowed in concern, he wondered what in all of Middle Earth that could have possibly been.  
  
Then again, on second thought, he probably didn’t want to know.  Things have been kind of strange around Bag End these past few days, after all.  Those foreigners, as nice as they might seem,  they were certainly odd at times.  
  
So with a resigned sigh, Sam figured that Ted Sandyman’s hedges could wait a few more minutes, and went to go investigate.

 

* * *

 

 

“Those are definitely _my_ cards!” Merry scowled.  “I slapped them!  I saw the sandwich!”  
  
“Are not!  My hand totally got there first!” Lauren argued, holding up her bright red hand as proof.  “You hit me, not the cards!”  
  
I couldn’t help but cackle at the two of them; shaking off the stings coursing through my own bruised hand.  The typical argument instigated by this game brought about a normalcy of sorts for Lauren and me.  It's sad, how something so simple could be so comforting, but it was true.  
  
I hadn’t had this much fun in ages.  
  
“You gotta be quick, man, gotta be quick!” I commented.  “Builds up your reflexes.”  
  
“What sandwich?  I missed it,” Frodo pouted.  
  
Merry pointed towards the end of the line.  “See there?  7 – 8 – 7.”  Frodo gave a sigh, mourning how he missed an opportunity to re-stock his dwindling pile of cards.  
  
“I think that’s what Kat means by being quick, cousin; you have to pay attention more,” Pippin piped up, flipping a card down to start a new line.  Frodo flipped his own to the pile, rolling his eyes in response.  
  
Lauren was next, flipping hers down.  And that’s when we all saw it: two 2s in a row.  We all sprung into action, slamming our hands down atop the pile.  The whole table shook, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh or hand hitting table echoed throughout the room.  
  
“OW!”  
  
Merry came out victorious this time, swiping the cards in the middle into his own pile.  He shook his hand out gingerly.  “My goodness, you’re vicious!” he said, sending a half-hearted glare in Lauren’s direction.  She merely shrugged, smiling a bit, obviously not bothered by his accusations in the least.  
  
“It wasn’t just me, you know.  Your hand was at the bottom of the pile, you got the full brunt of everyone’s slaps.  Besides,” she said, “The harder you hit, the less likely people will be willing to actually put their hand out there next time.”  
  
“Oh Eru,” Frodo muttered, taking note of both his cousins’ enormous grins, “I’m out.”  He pushed his cards in my direction.  “I’d rather keep my hands, thanks.”  
  
“If you insist,” I said.  
  
I should have seen it coming; really, I should have.  But I was doing so well, and I’m highly competitive – therefore I’m never one to back down during a game, especially one such as this.  Frodo was the wise one.  Really, he was.  He quit at exactly the right time.  
  
For on the next slap, which happened to be a 10 – Jack – 10 sandwich, Merry and Pippin went completely ballistic on our asses.  It was by far the scariest thing I had ever seen while playing Egyptians’ Rat’s Nest.  It was almost like a flail, really.  And the two of them sitting next to each other made it seem like a wall of sheer explosive power – certainly a force to be reckoned with.  
  
My _god_ , it was so painful!  My hand felt like it was on fire.  
  
The game ended then and there, with Frodo and I having to hold back a furious Lauren from maiming the two of them.  
  
It was then that Sam entered the kitchen holding a pair of garden sheers, looking at us like we were all completely out of our minds.  Lauren immediately changed tactics and lunged in his direction instead – my guess is that she saw the garden sheers as a perfect weapon.  Sam jumped back, blinking owlishly at the insanity of it all, and thankfully Frodo and I were able to keep our grip on her in check.  
  
“I don’t even want to know,” Sam muttered, leaving just as abruptly as he had arrived.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to play War: <https://youtu.be/tR8qOlLqjoA>
> 
>  
> 
> How to play Egyptian Ratscrew/Nest: <https://www.waste.org/~oxymoron/cards/ratscrew.html>
> 
>  
> 
> What a game of Ratscrew typically looks like: <https://youtu.be/7h99zClpN0M>


	7. A New Direction

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
 _Chapter 7: A New Direction_  
  
  
“So, how are your heels feelin’?” Lauren asked.  She rummaged through our wardrobe, getting ready for her night shift at the Green Dragon.  
  
From my spot on our bed, I shot her what must’ve been a pathetic looking glance.  “I _hurt_.”  I had to walk all over town today, delivering orders for Angelica’s shop.  Hobbiton is a hell of a lot bigger than I expected it to be.  My heels have been feeling better as of late, but if I happen to over-use them, they certainly let me know it.  
  
“That sucks,” she said, her tone sympathetic.    
  
I waved it off.  “Eh, it’s not like I can really do anything about it anyway.”  
  
“True,” she nodded, and then pulled out a hat and scarf, throwing them onto the bed beside me.  Seeing them reminded me of how it was nearing the end of autumn, how the cold was becoming crisper.  Snow wasn’t long off, we knew; growing up in New England certainly made us aware of the changes in seasons, what with the drastic weather we always put up with and all.  
  
“I can’t wait for it to snow,” I commented.  
  
“You’ll be able to ice your heels once it does,” she said.  
  
“My thoughts exactly.”  
  
She hummed a bit to herself as she glanced over the sweater she just pulled out.  “You know, when I was at the market earlier I heard people talking about how they thought it was going to rain tonight.”  
  
“Really now?” I murmured.  “That’s good; it hasn’t rained in a while.”  
  
Lauren held up the sweater against her, frowning a bit.  “What do you think, Kat?”  
  
The sweater was pretty, I had to admit.  It was creamy white in color with large stitches, a long torso and belled sleeves.  “It’s a bit too nice to wear to the pub for work, don’t you think?” I said.  “You might spill ale or something on it.  Besides, one might think that you want to impress somebody wearing something as pretty as that.”  I gave her an impish look, and she rolled her eyes, already knowing that I was teasing her.  
  
“Hey, you never know who you’re going to meet,” she said in defense.  
  
“Or run into,” I added, nodding sensibly.  
  
She raised an eyebrow.  “What are you implying exactly, sister-dearest?”  
  
I sighed dramatically, as if the answer was obvious.  “Only that my baby sister may or may not have a thing for a certain Brandybuck, who frequently stops to have a drink at the pub she happens to work at.”  
  
She let out a laugh.  “I barely even know him,” she said with a little scoff, pulling on a darker colored dress.  “And he doesn’t stop by all that often.”  
  
“Often enough.”  
  
Lauren didn’t make any sort of response to that, pointedly ignoring me as she stuffed the wool hat on her head.  
  
“I bet he at least makes a point to talk to you when he _is_ there,” I continued on.  
  
“You can be incredibly annoying, you know that, Kat?” she muttered exasperatedly.  
  
“I learned from the very best,” I answered, flashing my cheekiest grin.  
  
She rolled her eyes but grinned back at me nonetheless.  “Well only I am allowed to be annoying, all right?  The pain is going to your head, I think.  Go eat a cookie or something to get your mind off of it.”  
  
I gave her a salute as she turned for the door.  “Aye, aye, _mon capitane_.”  
  
With a little wave in return, she was off to work, leaving me all by my lonesome.  It was an odd concept as of late, being alone.  Usually there was always someone around between Lauren, Frodo, Bilbo, Lily, and Sam, not to mention Merry and Pippin’s random visits.  Therefore, having time alone wasn’t a typical occurrence.  I’m glad of this fact, for when I’m alone; I tend to think far too much.  
  
And let’s face it: regarding this whole Middle Earth situation, I certainly have a lot to think about.  
  
I sighed a bit, gathering the effort to get up and actually take my sister’s advice to heart.  Perhaps she was right – maybe something sweet really would do me some good.  I shuffled on down to the kitchen, where the sugar cookies we had baked earlier were still out on the counter cooling off.  I stole one, letting the weight of it settle in the palm of my hand as I took a seat at the table.  
  
It feels weird being in this house alone.  The comfy atmosphere holds memories of many generations of Bagginses; of laughter, of cheer, of good times.  This sort of atmosphere was something I hadn’t experienced since my early childhood days, since before our dad left our family.  
  
I had always envied people who were lucky enough to be around this, because I knew it was something I would never have.  And yet here I am, finding myself actually _part_ of it for once.  That’s just how the Bagginses are, I’ve found.  Their friends are their family, and to actually be included in that category was an amazing feeling.  We’ve only known them for about a month now, and yet… they accepted us into the folds so quickly, so easily.  I’m not altogether sure if it was simply due to the nature of hobbits as a whole race – friendliness and caring written right into their very genes – or if that was just the natures of Frodo and Bilbo Baggins.  
  
Bilbo, as we’ve come to learn, is a very interesting fellow.  He only ever drinks tea ( _“With nothing but a dash of lemon, lass; oh there you go, spot on!”_ ) or the occasional bit of liquor, and he always insists on having a slice of cheese with every meal, even at the two breakfasts.  He holes himself up in his study most of the time to write of his travels, and for some reason Lauren and I really can’t comprehend, he has taken an immense liking to the two of us.  Perhaps it’s because he believes us to be travelers, as he himself once was.  He often asks us to tell him tales of our ‘travels’ and we find ourselves making up these elaborate stories in order to appease him.  Or if we’re feeling particularly uncreative one day, we even tell him tweaked versions of old Disney fairytales, claiming that they’re old stories we’ve picked up along the way.  We’re always careful to tell of places he’s never been – steering clear of any mention of dwarves or Mirkwood elves, etc – and we find ourselves writing down what we say not long after just to keep our white lies in order.  
  
We hate lying but… do we really have a choice in the matter?  
  
I gave a sigh and bit into the cookie; it was moist, but not really all that warm anymore.  Nonetheless, it was still delicious.  And I was grateful that there were still a few comfort foods to be found around these parts.  
  
“Hullo, Kate-lass,” a cheery voice said.  
  
 _Speak of the devil..._   
  
“Hello, Mister Bilbo,” I murmured, glancing up.  He was leaning against the counter, eyeing me with a curious glance.  His greying sandy blond hair was going every which way, giving the impression that he either just got out of bed, or that he’s been pulling it out in frustration.  Seeing as it was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, I figured it had to be the latter.  “How’s the writing coming today?”  
  
He scoffed, waving a hand in my direction as he stole a cookie.  “Not too good, lass, not too good.  The words aren’t flowing today.  I needed to take a break before I snapped my quill and quit the whole project altogether.”  
  
I nodded sympathetically; I knew that feeling all too well, had dealt with it for the better part of my life.  While I had been a high level gymnast, those tricks never came to me easily.  I had more of a work ethic than I did talent, I guess you could say.  Therefore, I could easily relate.  
  
But the truth is, we hardly ever see Bilbo outside of his study.  Half the time one of us even brings his meals to him while he writes.  So for him to have hit a writer’s block such as this, to have to take a break outside of his sanctuary because of it, that was surely saying something.    
  
I thought back to when I wrote my last essay for school, and how I went about writing it.  I never really had a knack for writing per se; I was much more of an athlete than anything else, so I wasn’t sure if my advice would actually be of use to him.  
  
“When you write, do you sit there searching for the words you want to use?” I asked.  
  
Bilbo seemed surprised by the question.  “Well, _yes_ , that’s generally how one gets the words on paper.”  He gobbled up the rest of his cookie then proceeded to grab another.  
  
“I was just thinking… that maybe, if you put your writing aside for a bit, took your mind off it, you know?  That maybe, instead of you searching for the words, the words just might find you instead.”  It worked often enough during gym practices – have a bad day on bars, so you leave bars to go work on drills or another event instead.  More often than not, when you went to go swing on bars the next day, the skills that had been evading you before would catch on later.  
  
He stood there for a moment, just looking at me with a wide, blank stare; cookie half-hanging out of his mouth and everything.  I was tempted to laugh at his boggled state, but didn’t dare as I was afraid that I had offended him enough already.  And suddenly, he was the one that was laughing.  The old hobbit has beaten me to it.  “That may very well be the best piece of advice I’ve heard in some time, lass,” he said, coming over and ruffling my hair up.    
  
I scowled a bit, the hand on my head making me feel somewhat like a pet dog.  “You’re welcome?”  
  
“I have been working too much, haven’t I?” he continued on, “Can’t really be helped though, I’m afraid, have to get all my thoughts down as quickly as possible before all my memories fly out of my head.”  He stretched then, arms reaching up high, his hands almost knocking against the lamp that hung from the ceiling above our heads.  And as he took a seat across from me, he looked wearier than I had ever seen him.  “How is Frodo?”  
  
I found that his eyes held genuine concern, as if he honestly didn’t know.  Lauren and I may have only been here for a month, but since we’ve met him, Bilbo has spent the majority of his time locked up in his study.  So to be honest, the question didn’t really surprise me.  
  
Frodo has confided in me on more than one occasion on how he worries about Bilbo’s health.    
  
 _“My uncle’s not a young hobbit anymore,”_ he had said, biting his lip.  _“He might not look it, but he’s one of the oldest hobbits around.”_  
  
 _“Really now?  You wouldn’t know it by just looking at him.”_   And that’s when I had remembered about the Ring of Power, since it was undoubtedly the Ring Bilbo carried around in his pocket that’s been preserving his youthfulness.  
  
 _“He works himself too hard for his age,”_ Frodo had murmured.  
  
It seems that now though, I had actually convinced Bilbo to take a little break from his writing.  Both were so concerned about the other… their bond was palpable, despite the fact that they haven’t spent much time together lately.  It made me wonder just how Frodo came to be Bilbo’s ward in the first place.  
  
It was too bad that I was the one having this conversation with the old hobbit.  Frodo should be here talking to him right now, not me.  And that thought brought me back to some of my earlier musings; of how we’ve been welcomed into the fold, how we’ve become friends with that small group of hobbits.  They went out of their way to give us a place in the world, and yet… Lauren and I still don’t quite fit in.  And I don’t mean that we didn’t fit in as hobbits, because actually, we’ve started adapting quite well.  
  
But in the world of Middle Earth overall, now that was a different story.  
  
We might have been able to fool our friends into thinking that we’re Middle Earth-ians, which I’m pretty ashamed of – these people have been so good to us, and this is how we repay them?  By lying to them?  And yet, at the same time, I’m glad.  Because without them, where would we be?  (Not to mention what they would think if we did actually tell them where we’re from.)  
  
But when you get down to it, the truth is: we don’t fit.  We’re not meant to be here.  Just our mere presence could alter things terribly.  
  
But… I’ve been thinking about it.  And really, would some changes be such a bad thing?  Isn’t it possible to change things for the better?  
  
“Kate-lass?” Bilbo’s voice brought me back to the present, and he gave my arm a shake.  “You don’t look too well, my dear.”  
  
I went to speak, but found my throat was dry.  So I gave a little cough.  “M’fine,” I rasped out.  
  
“So Frodo has really been that bad, huh?” Bilbo asked with a small, sad smile.  
  
 _You’ve got to get your act together, Kat ole girl.  Can’t be spacing out during conversations anymore, ya hear?_   The thought popped up, sounding way too much like something my dear friend Jill would say.  Oh boy, I really am going crazy.  
  
I shook my head.  “No, no, Frodo’s been great.”  _… And he’ll be doing even better when he hears you’re taking a vacation,_ I wanted to add.  But I didn’t.  Instead I nibbled on yet another cookie, listening half-heartedly as Bilbo went on to tell amusing stories of Frodo’s fiascoes as a boy, all the while saying how he had been such a silly little child; a rascal if you will.    
  
Frodo was one of the kindest, gentlest people I’ve ever known.  But silly was certainly not an adjective that came to mind.  I wondered where that silly part of him went.  
  
I also wondered when Lauren was due to return home.  We have a lot to talk about.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re absolutely nuts, you know that, Kat?  But what the hell?  I’m in.”  
  
That’s what her answer had been.  
  
So that was that.  We were going to try and change things for the better.  Only we had no idea how we were going to actually go about it.  
  
“I hope you realize that this is going to be easier said than done,” I said, since it didn’t seem as if she altogether understood the situation.  It was nearly three in the morning and we were in Bag End’s massive study, history scrolls piled about all around us, reading them by the dim lighting of the oil lamps.  We decided that we had to catch up on the history of the Dark Lord and the Second Age, and I was racking my brain trying to remember what little I had read about it in the _Lord of the Rings_ appendices a while back.  Thing was though, Bilbo didn’t really have all that many texts on those sorts of things, so it was mainly just me and my recollections.  
  
And Lauren was treating the whole ordeal like another one of her skating practices: _let's go in, do what we need to do, and be done with it.  Easy-weasy lemon-squeezy._   It was almost as if she agreed to help me do this just to pass the time.  ‘Or then again, maybe not,’ I thought with a sigh as she then proceeded to chuck a scroll at the wall.  With Lauren, it always seemed to be that way.  She probably cared a lot more about it than she let on.  She has gotten quite close with that Brandybuck and Took, after all, so perhaps she was even doing this for them.  
  
“Did the scroll really offend you that much?” I asked mildly.  
  
She glared at the scroll that now lay on the floor across the room, as if it had done her some injustice.  “That one was in fucking _Elvish_ ,” she growled.  “We’ve been at this for hours.  And we haven’t learned anything new, nothing that we didn’t already know from before.  I don’t think this is going to help us at all.”  
  
“You never know.  It just might,” I said placatingly, binding back up the text I had just been skimming through.  
  
“You and your fucking books,” she muttered darkly.  “You know what I think might be a better way of passing our time?  That might be of some actual help to us?”  She stood up abruptly, and looked down at me with about the dirtiest glare she could muster.  “Our _training_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Later on that morning after the sun had risen, Frodo sat out on Bag End’s doorstep, a book propped open on his lap.  Samwise was not too far off, putting the finishing touches on the garden.  Winter was going to blow in soon, so everything had to be all set before the first snow of the season.  
  
“So where are the two sisters?” Sam asked.  
  
“Out,” Frodo replied with a little wave of his hand, eyes never glancing up away from the book’s pages.  “They left pretty early this morning.  I think they said something about dragging Merry and Pippin ‘out for a run’ or something of that sort.  I dunno.  I was half asleep when they told me about it and you know how they say things oddly sometimes.”  
  
From his spot on all fours planting bulbs, Sam nodded his agreement.  “They do have a queer way about them, don’t they?”  
  
“It’s part of their charm, really,” Frodo murmured.  “Their opinions are rather refreshing, I must admit.”  
  
“They’re a lot like you and Mister Bilbo in that respect, eh?” Sam commented.  
  
At that, Frodo did look up.  
  
“Meaning no offense, of course,” he continued on quickly.  “It’s just that they’re different, bound to be after travelin’ about so.  There’s nothin’ wrong with being interested in the world outside the Shire after all.”  
  
“O’ course,” Frodo agreed with a small smile, gesturing to the Elvish text he was currently reading through.  
  
“I myself would love to see an Elf some day,” Sam said, giving the soil one last pat before getting back up to his feet, brushing his hands against the legs of his trousers.  “But I doubt I’ll be so lucky.”  
  
“But you just might be.”  
  
Sam gave him a look clearly saying, ‘ _Pffft, no._ ’  
  
He shrugged in response.  “Who knows?  I just might end up dragging you on an adventure some day.  And we’ll go visit the Elves, I promise you.”  Frodo was only half-joking with that statement.  It’s been an idea he’s had since he was a boy, to go traveling and visit far away places like his Uncle Bilbo had done.  
  
“Really now?” Sam said with a smile.  “I might take you up on that offer then.  My old Gaffer probably won’t be too keen on the idea, though.  _‘Gotta keep yer nose outta trouble, Samwise,’_ is what he always says.  _‘Don’t go lookin’ for it and none will come to ya.’_ ”  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of getting you in trouble with your Gaffer,” Frodo replied.  
  
Sam shook his head.  “Just because he won’t be keen on it doesn’t mean I won’t go,” he rebutted.  
  
“So it’s settled then.”  
  
Sam nodded, and then frowned.  “Wait… Did you just hear—?”  
  
Frodo marked his page, and then put the book aside, listening real closely for anything unusual.  But there didn’t seem to be.  Just the birds chirping overhead, fallen leaves scuttling down the dirt road as the wind blew them what ways it pleased.  He was just about to tell him that no, he didn’t hear anything, that Sam was just imagining things.  But then, there was a shout.  A couple of shouts, actually; loud whoops of joy, and then laughter.  They both went over to the edge of the garden and peered over the hedges and down the road that led toward the center of town.  And that’s when they saw them: four hobbits – Merry, Pippin, Kate, and Lauren, to be exact – the lot of them with their pockets bulging.  In fact, anyone who didn’t know the Tamsin sisters well enough might even mistake them for lads at first glance, seeing as the girls both had their hair pulled back tight and were clad in brown trousers and white cotton tunics.  The four came to a skidding halt at the edge of garden in front of them, their faces bright red and their chests heaving.  
  
“What did you do?” Sam questioned, his tone one of accusation.  
  
The four could only gasp for air.  They were having a hard enough time trying to catch their breaths, never mind talk.  
  
“You lot ran here all the way from the Marish, didn’t you?” Frodo realized, taking note of the carrot sticking out of Pippin’s pocket.  
  
A grunt and several slow nods were his only replies.  “Poor Farmer Maggot,” Sam commented.  
  
“But that’s an awful long way aways from here,” Frodo said with a frown.  
  
“No shit,” Lauren rasped, glancing briefly over at Merry as he toppled over with a groan.  
  
Kat was sitting down at this point, clutching at her feet as she huffed.  “Stop… complaining.  All… your idea.”  She even pointed an accusing finger in her sister’s direction, but it was weak and tired looking.  
  
“Good exercise,” was all Lauren said in reply.  
  
Frodo felt as if he was left out on a crucial part of their conversation, but wasn’t altogether sure if he really wanted to be let in on it.


	8. (Not So) Happy Handstands

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 8: (Not So) Happy Handstands_

  
A couple of weeks later I found myself out in the very same woods where I first met Frodo.  But that first meeting happened two months ago.  So much has changed. The first snow of the season hit last night, so snow crunched beneath my feet and the wind blew around me in a chilly breeze.  I was looking upwards at the trees I was passing by; looking for one that had the sort of branches I needed.    
  
“Bingo,” I murmured, stopping short at one that seemed promising.  This particular tree was extremely tall, its branches thick and sturdy, and just behind it there was a slight hill trailing downwards, leaving a mighty snow bank piled up right at the base.  To me, the snow bank was just as important as the sturdy branches.  I needed the branches sturdy enough to support my weight and I also needed a safety-net of sorts, just in case.  It’s been a little while since I’ve done anything gymnastics-like, after all.  I’m probably going to be a tad rusty, and having the snow bank beneath me eased my mind.  At least I knew I wasn’t going to kill myself should I fall over.  
  
I undid the buttons of my coat, revealing my gymnastics team sweatshirt and a pair of trousers, the latter an item Lily had supplied me with out of her father’s old wardrobe.  It felt nice to be in the familiar cloth of the sweatshirt, I must admit.  I usually don’t wear it outside of Bag End because of the oddity it’s considered to be here in the Shire, but I couldn’t resist it today.  Besides, it’s not as if I’ll be running into a whole hell of a lot of hobbits in this neck of the woods.  I also thought it kind of fitting, too, just like the old days when I would go to practice and warm-up with it on.  Only today, instead of having beams, bars, and proper mats as padding, I have to resort to tree branches and snow banks.  Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.  
  
With a sigh, I rolled up the sleeves of the gray sweatshirt to my elbows, shivering a bit when the cold air hit my bare skin, and then tucked the tunic I had on underneath into the waist of the trousers.  I was finally all set to go.  
  
I climbed up the tree, stopping at a respectable height; high enough up to give my heart a little thrill yet low enough to not injure myself if I fall.  Falling is a great possibility, after all; a concept I learned early in life due to my sport.  Therefore, I know how to handle them very well by now.  I’m probably not as scared as I rightfully should be at the moment, but when you’ve been trained as I have in this art, you find that you’re able to do a lot more than anyone ever expected of you.  
  
And maybe that’s why I’m here in Middle Earth.  
  
With that thought in mind, I calmly walked out to the middle of the branch.  The wood was thick beneath my feet, and although the branch was round instead of a beam’s flat surface, I couldn’t help but be reminded of walking along on a high beam.  My toes could even grip the sides of it and everything.  I turned sideways, looking out over the white winter wonderland of the woods, then knelt down in a crouch and grasped the branch with a tight iron grip between my feet.  From there, I slowly straddle-pressed up into a handstand.  And it felt so wonderful to be upside down again, like the handstand was an old friend I hadn’t seen in ages.  Perhaps that’s exactly what my sport was for me, too – an old friend.  I’m so familiar with it; I know every single detail about every skill mastered and can tell you the break-down of a skill and what basics you need in order to perform it.  
  
I had been the best of the best, the Elite, and yet for a while there I had absolutely hated the sport.  Hated what it had done to me, where my life was going because of it, and the abuse it had put my body through.  But now that I’m training on my terms rather than my mother’s or my coaches’, and now that I have a real purpose for doing it – a specific goal in mind – I believe I may have found my love for gymnastics again.  
  
I had already been in the handstand for about a minute, and all the blood had rushed to my face – red and hot and pulsing.  The bark was digging into my fingers, and my knuckles were white from gripping the branch so tightly while bracing my whole body weight… and don’t get me started on the protesting shoulder muscles.  
  
Oh, I should’ve kept up the training from the beginning, since I’m clearly paying for it now.  Still, while I’m up here, I might as well try to build it back up as quickly as possible.  How about I throw in a blind-change?  
  
A blind-change is a half turn.  In order to execute it you’ve got to lift up one hand and spin inwards, leaving you in a reverse grip – meaning your hands end up backwards.  It’s a trick typically done on bars to lead into front giants and other high-level skills.  And as the name implies, it’s a blind hand movement, meaning with the way you turn, you can’t see the bar when you go to put your hand back on it.  It’s one of those skills your body eventually learns after much practice and a lot of drills.  (Not to mention the occasional _whoops I missed the bar and crashed_ moments.)  
  
But for me, I’ve been doing them for so long that they were second nature now.  It would take a lot more than a couple of weeks off for me to lose that skill.  I pressed down hard on my left hand, lifted up the right one and turned.  
  
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” a voice yelled.  It echoed off the snow and around the trees, and it definitely scared the crap out of me – enough to startle me out of my concentration, at any rate.  
  
I nearly missed regrasping the branch on the other side, though I managed to fix the mistake at the last second.  But by that time it was already too late – instead of staying upright in handstand like I’d been aiming for, I was falling over fast.  
  
Falling over just like a front giant – back first.  And unless I wanted to fall straight down and knock the wind out of myself, I’d have to hold on and swing through on the giant.  
  
Problem: This ain’t a bar and I’m not wearing grips.  
  
Shit!  
  
That person was yelling again.  I couldn’t make out what they were saying; too preoccupied by the bark shredding my hands as I swung down.  That, and the fact that the branch was too fat to shift my grip and swing back up to a handstand: and with that thought in mind I promptly peeled off, the momentum spinning me into a front flip, and when I opened up I fell flat, face first, Superman-style into a snow bank.  (See, told ya, professional faller.)  
  
While the crash seemed like an eternity for me – as it usually does when you know the inevitable – I knew it had only spanned the course of a couple of seconds.  Ten at the most.  
  
“Oh Eru, Kate!”  Someone was suddenly by my side, and this someone sounded an awful lot like Frodo.  His voice was frantic.  “Kate!  Are you alright?”  He was gripping my shoulders as if he was afraid to move me.  
  
For the next few minutes I could only groan in pain and cough up snow.  Frodo kept watching me with wide, fearful eyes.  I sat up slowly, not at all liking how everything ached.  “I was doing just fine until someone scared the ever-living shit out of me,” I muttered, clutching at my throbbing head, “I thought I was the only one out here.  But apparently not.”  
  
“I was out here on my way to the Mill, if you must know,” he replied defensively with a tinge of hurt.  Guilt flooded me when I realized how nasty I must’ve just sounded.  Especially since he was obviously very worried.  “Uncle Bilbo asked me to pick up some tools he’d lent to Mister Sandyman, and this here’s a shortcut to get there.  Oh goodness, you’re bleeding!”  
  
And indeed I was.  My hands were akin to raw hamburger.  I’ve had rips before but this is ridiculous.  The splinters didn’t help either.  “I’m sorry,” I murmured.  
  
He ignored the apology or didn’t hear it.  “What were you doing up there?”  
  
“I told you before that I’m an acrobat, didn’t I?”  
  
He grimaced as he looked my hands over, and then nodded slightly in remembrance.  “Aye, you did.  Still, you gave me quite a fright.  I thought you were going to kill yourself.”  
  
I grabbed handfuls of snow and gripped them tightly in my palms, willing the sore area to numb.  It didn’t take long for the white to be stained with red.  “No, I don’t have a death wish, believe it or not.  But we always found it funny how our coach called us _kamikazes_ every once in a while.”  
  
“Kamikazes?”  
  
“Yeah, I—”  Oh god.  Did I just tell him that – made a reference to Japanese suicide pilots?  He’s looking at me curiously, so I must’ve.  Forgot who I was talking to for a minute there.  “Never mind, it’s nothing.  Just silly talk.  Don’t mind me.”  I got to my feet.  Frodo did the same, though he looked uncertain.  
  
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again.  He was gripping my shoulders, searching every inch of my face like I was about to combust or something.  “Do you want me to walk you home?  To the healer?”  
  
“Don’t be silly, you still have to pick up those tools, yeah?  Go on, don’t worry about me; I’m a big girl, I’ll take care of it,” I said, not unkindly.  
  
He didn’t seem to be too convinced, though he eventually gave in and went about his way.  Once he was out of sight I turned and ran all the way to the Green Dragon as fast as my feet would carry me.  I burst in through the heavy door, and while there wasn’t a major crowd – it was a still before midday after all – there were a few people seated about for lunch.  They didn’t pay me much mind as I made my way up to the counter in the back.  Lauren stood behind it, cleaning out ale mugs, while Lily had pulled up a seat in order to eat her lunch and talk to Lauren at the same time.  They both turned to me surprised when they saw me approach.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Lauren questioned, “You said you’d be out for a while.  So how’d it go?  Not as out of practice as you’d thought you’d be?  I told you you’d be fine.”  
  
“Not exactly,” I said, holding up my bleeding hands as explanation, “I kind of had an accident.”  
  
“Jesus!  That’s nasty,” she breathed in return.    
  
Lily hissed through her teeth before grabbing my elbow to get a closer look.  “What are you doing here?  Shouldn’t you be at Healer Mayweather’s?”  
  
“No need to see him, I already know how to take care of it.  Main thing is to not let it get infected.  But since we haven’t got any Neosporin or any other anti-bacterial I decided alcohol was the next best choice.”  
  
Those words went completely over poor Lily’s head.  Her confusion was written all over her face.  “Germs,” I elaborated quickly.  “Can’t let the germs get at it.”  That didn’t seem to make any sense to her either, so I shrugged and turned my attention to Lauren, who was filling up two tankards with rum as she shook her head.  
  
“I dunno, Kat.  You sure about this?” she said, placing the two massive glasses on the counter in front of me.  “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
“But soap—”  
  
“Nope, need something stronger.”  
  
“Okay, if you say so.”  
  
“Kat,” Lily piped up imploringly, “I really think you should see the healer—”  
  
Too late.  I had already stuck both my hands into the mugs of rum.  Lauren was right.  It hurt like a bitch.

 

* * *

 

Later on that evening Frodo found himself at the Green Dragon pub with his two cousins, as well as Lily and Sam.  Frodo had asked both Lily and Sam there in order to talk.  As luck would have it, turns out Merry and Pippin had stopped by to visit Lauren, and when they found out she and her sister had gone home for the day, they were about to head over to Bag End before Frodo found them and asked them to stay for a drink or two.  Never ones to pass up on a drink, they did just that.  
  
It was quite a while before the talk got underway, for several hobbits kept coming around to say their ‘hellos’ and ‘how do you do’s.  After Sam’s Gaffer finally went off to discuss something with Dotty Underhill, they were finally left to themselves. “So, cousin, what’s with the meeting, eh?” Merry asked.  
  
After taking a sip of his ale, Frodo made fast work of getting to his point.  “To request something from the lot of you.”  Seeing he had all of their devout attentions he continued, “I don’t think we should ask Kate and Lauren about their past anymore.  You see, something happened today and I think I understand now.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Pippin questioned.  
  
“Lauren and Kate, I mean.  Why they… are the way they are.”  
  
“Mister Frodo, they’ve been travelin’ abroad,” Sam said, “They’re not from around here, either.  Surely that’s why.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Frodo replied.  “Seeing Kate today was… unnerving.  She fell from a tree, from seven feet up if I’d have to guess.  And she did it with grace.  Her hands were cut to bits yet she didn’t even give a notice that it hurt; not a wince, not a tear, nothing.”  
  
Lily’s eyes flew open wide.  “So that’s what that was from!”  They all pinned her with curious glances.  “She came in here earlier, hands all bleeding and acting peculiar.  Demanded Lauren give her a drink, she did, and kept going on saying all sorts of nonsense.”  
  
“Nonsense?” Sam echoed.  
  
“Sophisticated nonsense, mind you.  Anti-something or others.  I couldn’t make any heads or tails of it, though Lauren seemed to understand her.  She refused to go see the healer and insisted on bathing her hands in rum.”  
  
Pippin scrunched up his nose.  “Waste of drink.”  Sam promptly elbowed him.  
  
“Maybe they’re part elf,” Merry suggested.  “Explains the grace an’ all.”  
  
“Dunno, they seem pretty hobbit to me.”  
  
“I said _part_ , Pip.”  
  
“It’s just…” Frodo started, then sighed.  “It was frightening today, not sure how else to say it – never saw her that way before.  That and they never want to talk about where they’re from or where they’ve been.  I think maybe they were in a battle or something bad happened to them.”  
  
“Bad memories they’re trying forget, you mean?” Sam added.  
  
The comment was met with silence.  That really seemed like the only logical conclusion.  As the group sipped at their drinks, they couldn’t help but wonder what could possibly be so bad.  And the possibilities of what those bad things might be, to be quite honest, terrified them.    
  
“Maybe it’s best if we focused on who they are now instead of worrying about what happened to them before,” Lily suggested.  “They mean well, after all.”  
  
“Indeed,” Merry replied, finishing off his tankard before pushing his chair out, the legs screeching along the wooden flooring.  “Now I’m off to get us more drink, since we’ve clearly not had enough if we’re this serious about things.”  
  
Conceding this fact, they all hummed their agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Straddle Press Handstand : https://youtu.be/-xPx6-rbcfs?t=2m36s](https://youtu.be/-xPx6-rbcfs?t=2m36s)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Blind change drill (remaining in handstand) : https://youtu.be/6vQiOAZh22c?t=55s](https://youtu.be/6vQiOAZh22c?t=55s)
> 
>  
> 
> [Front Giants : https://youtu.be/IdzNU6hAs2I](https://youtu.be/IdzNU6hAs2I)
> 
>  
> 
> [Peeling off on a front giant : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nG2fE6kdBA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nG2fE6kdBA)


	9. Homesick

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 9: Homesick_

  
One of the biggest differences Lauren and I face with our new life is the culture.  Before, I never really thought twice about how our modern society shaped us.  I don’t think anyone really ever does.  Too busy with living your life, with people who believe and think the same as you, so used to doing things a certain way — I guess some things inadvertently get taken for granted.  But it’s becoming more and more apparent as time wears on, that we dearly miss being _part_ of society, so unlike the observers and pretenders we’ve become.  Our patience for the strange looks at our way of speaking and our behavior is growing thin.  
  
All too well, I know the importance of learning to act like a hobbit.  _I know._  
  
But I’m homesick.  So sue me.  
  
December’s drawing to a close, and as the days tick by, more and more hobbits are starting to bubble with excitement over their holiday: Yule.  I know this is their world, that this is how they do things here.  But it feels wrong, somehow.  Christmas-time without tinsel and Santa?  Without a tree, eggnog, the shopping rush, and corny songs — however obnoxious they may or may not be?  It’s been hard trying to wrap my mind around it.  
  
We’d never done a prolonged celebration or anything.  Our sports (read: our mother) never allowed it.  But we were given Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, at least.  And being surrounded by everyone else getting ready and excited for the Christmas holiday?  Well, it had been enough.  
  
This, though?  Being surrounded by people who have absolutely no idea what Christmas even is?  It not even existing?  It’s a little surreal.    
  
So I when I came home from the market, I was surprised to find that Bag End smelled oh-so-familiar — of nutmeg and cooked sugar, from eggnog no doubt — and Lauren making a sloppy wreath.  She had taken up residence on the floor of the den, using the coffee table as a workspace.  Bits of moss and twigs were littered everywhere, like a garden bomb had gone off.  But the Bagginses didn’t seem to give it much mind, as both Bilbo and Frodo were seated on the couch watching her progress with interest, glasses of eggnog in hand.  
  
As I hung up my coat in the front hall, I overheard Bilbo ask, “Why do you put trees in your house?”  
  
“Because it’s pretty!” Lauren replied happily, if not a little drunk.  Which is the only reason I could think of why she’d gone all Christmasy traditions on the Bagginses despite our agreement not to.  The eggnog recipe Jill’s mother taught her involved quite a bit of rum, after all.  “And it’s fun decorating it.  All shiny and candy and light.  Except for cleaning it.  Clean up sucks.  I don’t know why else, though.  Like how it started.  Probably something religious, though, to make the Jesus freaks happy.  Fuck religion.  Most people are only in it for the pretty and the presents.  Don’t know why you guys don’t do Christmas trees.  No, Yule trees.  It seems like it’d be right up your ally, you nature enthusiasts.”  
  
And there are the drunken rambles.  Yep, definitely drunk.    
  
As I came into the room, Frodo flashed me a highly amused glance, all gleaming eyes and grins over the rim of his eggnog.  He looked to be in his glory, with a spark of understanding, as if listening to her rambles was filling in some missing pieces of the puzzle our quirkiness no doubt presented.    
  
“Kaaaaaat,” she turned to me with a whine, “Why don’t hobbits do Yule trees?”  
  
  I gave a resigned sigh, not quite believing I was even having this conversation.  “Because to bring it indoors you have to cut it down.  They wouldn’t kill it.”    
  
“Aw,” she pouted.  But her disappointment lasted just for a moment because in the next breath her eyes flew wide with a gasp as a new possibility came to mind.  “But what about outside?  We can do it outside, right?  Can you imagine, a lit up Christmas tree in the snow!  It’d be _gorgeous_.”  
  
“We don’t have LED lights, Laur.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“I’m not letting you anywhere near a tree with a lit candle.  Never mind multiple, and absolutely not drunk,” I said sternly, feeling more like a parent than a sibling.  
  
She crossed her arms with another pout.  “You’re no fun.”  
  
I could only shake my head.  “Unbelievable,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose in irritation.    
  
“She does have a point, Kate-lass,” Bilbo said gently, and I couldn’t help turning to him in surprise.  “You should do some of your own traditions.  It’s not good to deny who you are, or where you’re from.”  Those caring eyes, that concern lacing his words.  He’s right, of course.  I know that.  But it’s so hard knowing what’s the right thing to do — or not do — when things are just so impossible.  
  
Seeing my nod of reluctant agreement, Bilbo then held up his eggnog in my direction, like a toast.  “Especially don’t deny it if it involves wonderful drinks like this.  What’s this called again?”  
  
“Eggnog,” Lauren supplied, bouncing in her seat with a giggle.  “Wonder why it’s called that, though?  Is that what it is, nogging eggs?  Ooh, that’s a funny word!  NOG.”  
   
Oh, she is _gone_.  Absolutely shit-faced.  This could go to hell fast if we’re not careful.  Loose lips sink ships.  That’s the saying, right?  But she’s not going to cooperate.  Hell, Lauren barely cooperates on a good day, never mind while off-her-ass drunk.  Trying to get her to stop will likely only make matters worse, with that temper of hers, she’d probably start yelling all sorts of things she shouldn’t and start ranting with something like: _to the hell with that stupid evil Ring and fuck that Sauron guy!_   Sentiments that will only lead to bad things if said in front of the Bagginses.  
  
In the next moment, she started teaching Frodo _Jingle Bells_ , and I thought my head was going to explode.  Caught between panic, stress, and wanting to throttle her, I scurried from the room and down the hall, wanting nothing more than to have this all be a bad dream.    
  
Reaching the long back hallway that housed the bedrooms, I couldn’t get myself to actually go inside.  Our bedroom would be too claustrophobic.  So I paced the length of the hall once, twice, counting my breaths and trying to slow down my breathing.  But then I distantly heard shrieking fake laughs: _HA HA HA_ , from Lauren singing the song poorly, as always, and any semblance of calm I might have collected went spiraling out of control again.    
  
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.  
  
I’d ended up leaning against the wall and banged my head backward on it with every curse.  The pain blossoming at the back of my skull helped a bit.  It gave me something else to think about besides how everything was now royally fucked.  Should’ve known that it would never work; that we’d mess it up.  She was right.  Mum was right.  We can’t do anything right.  
  
So caught up in my thoughts, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt gentle hands cupping my cheeks.  Eyes flying open, I was suddenly face-to-face with Bilbo, whose gaze was sad and whose mouth was set in a grim, determined line.  “Don’t be hurting yourself like that, lass,” he admonished softly, “You’ve had enough injuries as of late.”    
  
He meant my hands, of course.  Still bandaged, still healing.  But they weren’t so bad anymore.    
  
The old hobbit was so close.  Just inches away.  I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and that faint smell of ink that seemed to follow him everywhere.  His hands were warm, slightly sweaty, and still that sadness in his expression.  All in all, there was a familiarity in the way he was acting — as if he’d known me for years rather than weeks… as if he’d done this a million times before.  
  
He released the hold on my cheeks, glanced down at my hands as he grasped them and lifted them up between us, palms up.  The bandages were crinkled and dirty from my activities of the day.  The warmth of his hands cradling mine was strangely comforting, as was the way he folded his thumbs across the bandages on my palms, running a back and forth motion from my fingers to my wrists.  “Not all injuries can be seen, like this,” Bilbo commented, gesturing to my ripped hands.  “Some lurk in the dark corners of the mind and whisper bad things to us.”  
  
My eyes shot to his, and from the way he was looking at me — filled with empathy — it was all too clear that he spoke from experience.  “When bad things happen, we get so used to acting a certain way.  Doing things a certain way.  We get so used to it, that the quiet of normal life — the way it should be — is _too_ quiet.  It’s difficult to go back to the way things used to be.”    
  
I breathed a sigh at his words.  Try as he might, he just doesn’t get it.  But in all fairness, how could he possibly?  I know that between the bizarre way Lauren and I act and how we’re stressed about the new changes in our lives, it must seem that we’re not well.  Mentally, that is.  That something happened to us.  Something bad.  After all, isn’t that what happened to Bilbo?  People saw he went off on an adventure and he hasn’t quite been the same since.  I shook my head.  “We love being here, don’t get me wrong.  But nothing about our life right now is like how it was before.  Life can never be the same for us.”    
  
“I know you’ve lost your home, lass,” he said, and I couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath at that.  Had Lauren said something before I got back?  What did she say?  But then he continued, “I’ve known quite a few people like you.  That same melancholy of having lost what’s known to them.  Of not quite having a place in the world anymore.  The dwarves acted much the same on our journey, especially when they spoke of the Lonely Mountain.”  
  
Oh, of course.  The dwarves.  Thank God.  The tightness in my chest released ever so slightly.  “How did they cope with their loss?”  
  
“It got easier with time, I think.  Of course, I didn’t meet them until well after they lost their home, not until they went to go reclaim it from the dragon,” Bilbo admitted.  “But I do know they weren’t afraid to be themselves.  They were very proud of their heritage.”  It was all too easy to hear the advice in his words: _don’t shun your own culture, embrace it, and do what you’d normally do._  
  
I gave a shrug.  “It’s not that easy for us.  It’s not a matter of shame.  It’s more…” but I trailed off as words failed me.  Because how could I possibly explain that this was supposed to be a fictional world?  That he and everyone he knew were supposed to be fictional characters?  That I just might be out of my damn mind?  “I just… I don’t know,” I finished lamely.  
  
“My nephew has been worried about you,” Bilbo said, giving my hands a squeeze.  “You two have grown close, aye?  Perhaps a friend’s ear won’t go amiss.  I know he’d love for you to speak with him about it.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can,” I said, in all honesty.    
  
“What could it hurt, lass?” he murmured.  
  
Everything.  Absolutely everything.  
  
“It’s often the most difficult things in life that are the most rewarding,” Bilbo said cryptically.    
  
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t respond.  Instead, when he suggested I retire early, I took it up gladly.  As I headed toward the bedroom I shared with Lauren, I couldn’t help but ponder the old hobbit’s words, wondering if maybe he was right.  Maybe I should talk to Frodo about it.  Maybe it’s all these secrets that are killing me.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after having taken care of both breakfasts, I was treating myself to some gingerbread cookies with my tea.  I’m not much of a cook — Lauren’s stuff usually comes out so much better — but I was proud of myself because my attempt at baking this time didn’t come out half bad.  
  
“You gave your cookies faces?” Frodo asked, amused, bracing a hip against the counter as he picked up a gingerbread man off the tray.  
  
“And tuxedos,” I said, then cringed as I realized a second too late that he’d have no idea what a tuxedo even is.  “It’s a kind of formalwear, where we’re from.”  
  
“Is that why he’s got a bow on his neck?” he asked, poking the still wet icing.  Icing was left dabbed on his finger, and he sucked on it absently as I nodded in response.  
  
“It’s called a bow tie,” I explained in-between sips of tea.    
  
Lauren came staggering into the room then, face pale, blonde hair a massive case of bed head, and looking much like hell warmed over in the same rumpled clothes as last night.  As she plopped into the seat across from me, I slid a cup of tea in her direction.  She scrunched her nose with a slight groan of disappointment and pushed it back toward me looking a little green around the gills.  “I miss coffee,” she croaked in a _woe-is-me_ sort of way as she leaned forward on the table, using her arms as a pillow.  “And Advil.  And Tylenol.”    
  
I pat her head, smoothing her crazy hair down a smidge.  “Such is the life of an underage alcoholic.”  
  
“I hate you sometimes,” she said, though her words lacked any real malice.  
  
Frodo was still looking the cookie over with an appraising eye, tongue poking out from between his teeth like he didn’t quite know what to make of it.  “What is it, Frodo?” I prompted.  
  
 He turned toward me and shook his head slightly.  “I’m finding it hard to actually eat it.  As if that smile is saying: please don’t eat me!”  
  
“Yeah, they can do that to you,” I said, smiling a bit at how the scenes from _Shrek_ with the gingerbread man came to mind all too easily.  
  
“Not the gumdrop buttons!” Lauren, still laying on her arms, said in a falsetto.  It was reminiscent of the one used by the gingerbread character in _Shrek_.  
  
The loud laugh that bubbled up at how her thoughts mirrored my own caught me by surprise.  I found myself holding my hands to my mouth as if I could physically stop the laugh by doing so.  Frodo was looking between the two of us, eyebrows raised in surprise, much like how he always does whenever we say or do things he doesn’t quite understand — he knew all too well there was a joke somewhere in what she’d said, he just wasn’t in on it.    
  
Lauren sat up then and squinted at Frodo.  She wasn’t done messing with him yet.  Still with that falsetto, she asked him with the most serious look she could muster, “Do you know the muffin man?”  
  
He took the bait perfectly.  “The muffin man?” he asked, sounding a little baffled.  
  
“The muffin man!”  
  
“The one who lives on Drury Lane?” I piped up.  
  
Lauren turned to flash me a look of adoration, one that clearly said _thanks for playing_.  Putting a finger to her nose, she pointed at me with her other hand as if to say _that’s the one_.  
  
Grabbing one of my gingerbread men, I broke off the head and popped it in my mouth — Lauren’s falsetto comment of, “You’re a monster!” started a new round of giggles — then I held the remaining cookie out to Frodo.  He took it with an uncertain smile.    
  
Oh, I guess I’ll have to explain it to him — it’s not right being left in the dark.  The last thing I want is for him to think we’re laughing at his expense.  So I said, “You see, there’s this fairytale told to children where we’re from.  Or is it a nursery rhyme?  Doesn’t matter, the story is really old, at any rate.  It’s about a magic cookie man that jumps out of the oven and runs away so he can’t be eaten.”  
  
Finally feeling comfortable enough to eat the cookie, Frodo started nibbling at an arm.  “Does he get away?”    
  
“I don’t remember,” I said, giving a shrug.  “All most people remember is the rhyme.  _Run, run, run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!_ ”  Lauren joined in for the rhyme, the two of us reciting it together.  She’d taken a cookie and bobbed it up and down across the table top as we’d said it, helping the gingerbread man do his ‘run’.  
  
The excitement in Frodo’s face then, at the two of us, was spectacular.  Grinning madly, all dimples,  he was watching with new found appreciation as Lauren played with the cookie, as if truly seeing it — seeing us — for the first time.  And I realized then he never thought we were having him on, or that he was ever the butt of a joke.  No, instead he’d known there was a story to be told.  And he’d gobbled it up right quick when we’d offered it.  
  
Bilbo’s words drifted across my thoughts then.  _“I know he’d love for you to speak with him about it.”_   Even more than hearing a good story, Frodo’s been intrigued about us and what makes us tick.  That’s been more than clear, with that ever-present curiosity and gentle prodding about our lives, not to mention the stolen glances I catch when he thinks I won’t notice.  Always those blue eyes, with the eagerness of wanting to know more etched so clearly in his expressions.  
  
And he’s been learning more, bit by bit.  He even knows about Christmas now, _Jingle Bells_ and all.  And somehow the world hasn’t ended.  So maybe, just maybe, we can tell him about our home without ruining everything.    
  
But still, even if we can tell him… Should we?


	10. Yule Festivities

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 10: Yule Festivities_

  
Yule, we’ve come to learn, is the hobbit version of New Years.  Much like the holiday we know and love, Yule spans two days as well: Day 1 is the last day of the year and Day 2 is the first day of the new year.  _“Thank God something’s the same,”_ Lauren had commented.    
  
During the early hours the first day of Yule, we found ourselves taking Bilbo’s advice to heart.  Our homemade Christmas ornaments littered the den.  Since this was all very last minute and we don’t have the money or time to really make anything better, we were stuck making everything out of cookies, paper, and anything remotely crafty we could find around Bag End: from paper chain garlands and strung up beads, to those snow flakes we used to make in elementary school by cutting up folded paper, to a new batch of gingerbread men we strung up with twine.  But it was all easy enough to make and didn’t take long at all.  
  
No, the real reason why we’re up so early is because of Merry and Pippin.  It’s tradition for the young hobbits of Hobbiton to take a hike up to the cliff by the lake for holiday festivities.  The two troublemakers, as it turns out, are on duty to supply our group’s provisions this year.  Apparently, they’d invited Lauren along without really explaining to her what was going on.  Which left me listening to her lament her lost opportunity to sleep in as we sat by the warm hearth organizing our new ornaments into separate bags.  “Seriously, though,” she said, plunking down the bag of paper snowflakes with vigor, “Those bastards tricked me.”  
  
“You could’ve said no,” I pointed out reasonably.  “Besides, you three do everything together.  It’s understandable they thought you’d want in.”  Three sharp knocks sounded at the front door.  We both turned at the noise.  “And that’s them now.”  
  
I continued loading up the garlands as carefully as I could, fully expecting her to get the door to greet her friends.  Except the moment stretched between us.  An uncomfortably long moment.  And Lauren didn’t seem in any hurry because she didn’t budge an inch. “You going to get that, or what?” I asked.  
  
She gave a nod, but held up a finger in my direction — the universal signal for _wait a second_ — as she glanced at an old pocket watch we’d found in storage.  They knocked again.  And still, still Lauren didn’t move.  I raised an eyebrow at her.  She playfully wiggled her eyebrows right back at me.  
  
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I accused.  
  
“Immensely, sister-dearest.  Immensely.”    
  
More knocking, now accompanied by choice curse words, something foreign-sounding that I couldn’t really make out.  Their patience finally ran dry, it seems.  Only then did Lauren start making the short way to the front door — but even still she made extra effort in taking her time by slowly dragging her feet.  
  
“Took you long enough, you twit,” Merry grumbled when the door finally opened.  
  
My sister, the pleasant person that she is, cackled with glee, relishing their discomfort with a twisted sort of satisfaction as the cousins shuffled in, rubbing the feeling back into their cold feet on the plush entrance rug and shivering into their scarves.  “It’s what you get for dashing my hopes of a lie-in,” she said, and it was all too easy to picture the devious smile she no doubt sported.  “Next time be a little more considerate when roping me into your plans.”  
  
“The markets have special hours today,” Pippin explained with a frown, “Can’t go any later than this if you want the good candles.  Getting first pick of the candies is also excellent motivation, you know.”    
  
“And we couldn’t have gone yesterday because?”  
  
“They only sell the Yule candles today!” Merry huffed, tapping his foot impatiently, “Now you coming or not?”  And in the next instant he was turning back out the door.  
  
Buying the Yule candles was a serious business, by the looks of it, even for the two troublemakers.  Even _they_ weren’t going to put up with her shenanigans today.  Good for them.  
  
Lauren, still devoid of any apology, merely shrugged, collected her coat and scarf, and followed Merry outside.  Pippin, lingering in the hall, hesitated.  “Do you want to come, Kat?” he asked.  I had to smile at his use of Lauren’s nickname for me — the nickname that only my family and close friends had ever used.  He must’ve picked it up from her.  
  
I shook my head.  “I’ve still got to pack up our snacks for the day,” I explained.  “But thanks, Pip.  Maybe just pick out a really pretty candle for me?”  
  
He flashed a smile at that, blonde curls bobbing as he gave a nod.  “Aye, will do.”

 

* * *

 

Sandwiches, breads, jams.  Easy stuff to put together, easy to carry.  That was the idea for the day.  Lucky for me, Lauren prepared the fish and coleslaw in advance, so all I had to do was put the sandwiches together and pack up the boxed lunches.    
  
The coleslaw was as close to what we grew up with as Lauren could get it — mayonnaise doesn’t exist here, after all, so she had to improvise.  It’s a concoction of whatever she’d found stocked in the pantry, like picked cabbage and canned carrots.  It’s a lot more purple and smelled tangier than it should’ve been, but somehow — to my continuing astonishment — she made it work.  Perhaps figure skating hadn’t been her true calling at all.  The more time we spend here as housekeepers (and the more Lauren tries recreating recipes from home) I can’t help but wonder if she would have been happier as a cook rather than an athlete, had our mother allowed it.  
  
His footsteps were light as he entered the kitchen, but I knew from his gait that it was Frodo without turning around.  He’s been shuffling his feet lately.  I was just finishing up as he approached, packing up the last tin, the closest thing we could find to use as a lunch box.  “What’s all this?” he asked, no doubt gesturing to the seven tins lined up on the counter, as I’d prepared one for each of us and our friends.  
  
“Snacks," I replied.  
  
He stepped up to the counter, the two of us standing shoulder to shoulder.  Keen eyes drifted over my workspace.  “Cabbage salad?  Odd choice for Yule.  But it is Merry’s favorite, you know.”  
  
I gave a nod.  “Pretty sure that’s why Lauren made it.”  
  
Frodo bumped my shoulder lightly with his own, the two of us sharing a smirk.  “She fancies him, then?”  
  
I snapped the last tin shut as I said, “Oh yeah, big time.  Not that she’ll admit it.  I think she’s afraid of being friend-zoned, honestly — that she’ll always just be seen as a friend, or that they don’t really see her as a girl, since she always goes off doing unladylike things with them.”  
  
His brow furrowed at that.  “Yet she still does it?  Why?”    
  
“That’s just Lauren,” I said simply.  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
I turned to him then.  He was standing close enough that my arm lightly brushed against his, and being a good foot taller than me, I had to tilt my head back in order to meet his gaze.  “She doesn’t want to change anything about herself just to please people.  It’d be living a lie.”    
  
The hypocrisy of my words gnawed at my stomach a bit.  Since isn’t that exactly what we’ve been doing these last few months?  Living a lie?  Trying to pretend that we’re something we’re not?    
  
We have to do it, I know.  But it doesn’t make actually doing it, and living with the guilt, any easier.  
  
“The consequences of her actions… she doesn’t think things through, a lot of the time,” I continued.  “She’d much rather just be herself and let whatever happens… happen.”  
  
Frodo’s expression was soft, the winter sunrise filtering in through the kitchen window accentuating the contours of his features.  He lifted a hand in the small space between us, as if he was going to reach out and touch me.  But he quickly changed his mind, grasping the empty air in a gentle fist and tucked the hand back in his pocket, as if thinking better of it.  “To have such confidence in oneself… it is admirable.”  
  
“Sometimes,” I admitted.  “But it can also be foolhardy.  Especially when there’s a good chance it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass.”  
  
He quirked one of those crooked, tight-lipped smiles of his, bobbing his head in a nod.  “True,” he conceded.  “That might be why she fancies my cousin, to be honest, and why she gets along with him and Pippin so well.  They’re much the same.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.  Not an ounce of patience between the three of them.”  
  
“Aye, too right.”  He paused then, his vivid blue eyes drifting over my form as he gave me a once over.  “You’re not wearing that out today, are you?” he asked in concern, as if only just noticing my attire.    
  
I glanced down at the delicate, short-sleeved dress I had on, smoothing down the skirts suddenly feeling self-conscious.  Between the cooking fire and the sun hitting the back of the hobbit hole, the kitchen is the warmest room in the house in the mornings.  So Lauren and I prefer short sleeves most days, and slipping on sweaters as needed.  Even then, though, we end up tying the sweaters around our waists more often than not once we leave the house, due to our training.  
  
But we were also those weirdos back home who’d go around in Adidas sandals to our practices year-round, even during fierce New England snow storms… so maybe we’re just freaks of nature in general, no matter where we are.    
  
“You really don’t know anything about the festival, do you?” he asked, though it seemed more rhetorical, like he was talking to himself rather than talking to me.  “Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not from here.”  
  
I raised my eyebrows at him, flashing a disbelieving look.  Because no matter how hard we’ve tried, we still act dreadfully foreign, after all.  
  
“The festivals are so important to us in the Shire; it’s difficult to imagine other hobbits not knowing about them,” he explained, running a hand through his dark hair.  
  
“It is a shame,” I agreed.  Despite all the background information Tolkien afforded us with his various writings about Middle Earth, some things were just not included.    
  
Hand still ruffling at the curls at the back of his head — a motion I’ve seen from Bilbo on many occasions — he stooped down a bit to meet me at eye-level.  “Suppose I’ll just have to teach you all about them, eh?”  
  
I couldn’t help but grin.  “I’d love that.”  
  
“Excellent,” he beamed, clapping his hands a bit as he leaned back against the counter.  “Well then, first things first.  You need to dress warmly.  We’re going to be outside in the snow for a very long time.  All day and through the night, in fact.”  
  
“All day and all night?” I echoed in surprise.  “It must be some party.”  
  
His eyes glittered with mirth.  “Mayhaps,” he said, a hobbit amalgamation of _maybe_ and _perhaps_ , and I couldn’t help but find it strangely endearing.  Especially since his mischievous tone suggested that we really are going to have quite the night ahead of us.  
  
“You’re not going to tell me what I’m getting myself into, are you?”  
  
Coming up to grip my shoulders, he said, “Some things are better experienced than explained.”  Then he spun me around toward the back hall and gave a gentle push.  “Now go dress warm.”

 

* * *

 

After a morning of sledding and an afternoon of “ice skating” — which to Lauren’s annoyance wasn’t so much _skating_ as it was slipping and sliding around the frozen lake with nothing but our bare feet — we found ourselves parked in a trench of cleared snow beneath the party tree, enjoying our lunches as we watched the beginnings of a bonfire being built.  Even the very young children were helping out, piling up as much kindling in their arms as they could possibly carry.  A great deal of wood had been specifically set aside to dry out for the occasion, it seems.  
  
A few feet over, Lauren was regaling our friends with the customs from home after they found out we’d never been to a hobbit Yule festival before.  
  
“For New Years we do a countdown for the last minutes and seconds of the year and watch the ball drop.  The ball’s this enormous glass thing, all shiny, built up on a, uh… platform… that’s way high in the air so everyone can see,” she explained.    
  
“Why’d you go and drop it?” Lily asked, looking a little lost.  
  
“I dunno,” Lauren said slowly, tugging on her ear in thought as if only just realizing it herself.  “It was just something we did.”  
  
“So you’d break a pretty ball at the end of every year?” Sam asked, and I noted with some amusement he was eyeing our bag of handmade ornaments, as if we had a ball in there we were planning to break.    
  
“Well, no,” Lauren said with a frown, probably coming to realize this wasn’t the best topic.  “It was set up on this device that let it fall, but stopped it before it was anywhere near the ground so it wouldn’t break.”  
  
“That’s no fun,” Merry commented the same time as Pippin blurted, “Then what’s the point of it, then?”  
  
My sister gave a little half-hearted shrug.  “Seems a bit silly now, trying to explain it to you like this.”  
  
“I’ll say,” Sam muttered, the typical Shire exasperation of _foreigners_ , all too clear in his tone.  As if by doing something he didn’t understand somehow made it stupid.  Maybe it was.  Sam set aside the rest of his lunch then, grabbed Lauren’s hand and hauled her off to do _proper_ holiday things, like helping put together the bonfire.    
  
“Oi, we’re coming too!”  
  
And the rest of them scampered off, high on the energy of the day.  They hadn’t even noticed they left Frodo and me behind.  He was leaning against the tree, hugging his knees tucked up to his chest with one arm, holding his sandwich with the other.  “You alright?” he asked softly.    
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Pursing his lips, he gave a nod, as if he was expecting that response.  “Then why is there sadness in your eyes?”  He let go of his knees a moment to brush the backs of his fingers down my cheek; a slow, gentle motion.  I knew it was a gesture of comfort more than anything else.  Yet it felt intimate, somehow, and I couldn’t help but turn to him in surprise even as a gentle tingling shot down my spine.  “Don’t be minding Sam,” he continued, “He has a good heart, even if he is traditional.”    
  
I shook my head against his hand.  “I’m not sad,” I corrected.  “Not really.  Just thinking about how things used to be compared to how they are now.  How so much has changed.”  Celebrating holidays in the Shire certainly wasn’t something I ever could have imagined.  I pinched the inside of my forearm — again, for probably the millionth time — and the pain hit, so no, I’m still somehow not dreaming.  “But I guess that’s what New Years is all about, yeah?  A new year brings new beginnings; new possibilities.”    
  
Frodo gave a small smile.  “That is a nice sentiment,” he commented, hugging his knees once more.  “Bit more positive than our celebrations.”  Seeing my obvious confusion, as we’ve been laughing it up with winter activities all day, he pointed at the growing wood pile.  “Yule’s the darkest day of the year because it has the longest night.  We keep the light burning to protect us from the darkness.”  
  
His tone… he spoke as if evil lurked in the dark.  As if amidst all the cheer and good times there was much more to the festival than people let on.  “Is tonight dangerous?” I asked with growing concern, not really wanting to believe the innocence and beauty of the Shire could ever be tainted.    
  
“No,” he was quick to say, sounding a little baffled by the question, “Nothing like that.  You know, it’s like in the Old Stories, with the lost battles and the years of darkness.  Of course, most Shire hobbits don’t give much credence to the Valar these days, as it’s Elvish lore an’ all, but our Yule customs are good evidence we believed in them enough to fight against the darkness all those years ago.”  
  
Elvish lore… he must be talking about those stories in the _Similarian_ , right?  I had thumbed through it once, a long time ago, not enjoying it as much as the _Lord of the Rings_ so I didn’t really give it much mind back then.  Now, though?  I could kick myself for not paying closer attention to it.  Giving a nod, I pretended to understand what he was talking about more than I actually did.    
  
I mean, it’d be weird for me to not know the old stories, right?  I’ll have to go through Bilbo’s library again later.  
  
“So the bonfire is to ward off the evil of old?”  
  
“Aye,” he murmured, and like a prayer, blue eyes fluttering closed as he continued, “May we never live to see a second reign of darkness.”    
  
Emotions caught in my throat at the thought of the coming war and the Ring of Power.  At how close to home that prayer will come to play for this wonderful hobbit.  I only hope we have the strength to weather it.  “Amen,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.  
  
A few moments passed as a comfortable silence settled between us… that is, until Lauren came back trudging through the snow, huffing.  “Finally,” she said, exasperated.  “Sam’s a man on a mission right now, you know?”  
  
Peeking one brilliant eye open, a smirk pulled at Frodo’s lips.  “He started lecturing you, didn’t he?”  
  
“Never thought there’d be an end to it.  He just started going on and on and on,” Lauren complained, twirling a hand about, as if she could give a physical representation to his rambles.  “Is he always that preachy?”  
  
“Preachy?”  
  
“Does he always think he knows best?” Lauren amended, “That the way he does things just _has_ to be better than the way you do it?”  
  
Frodo gave a small nod, wincing through his smirk.  “Aye, a bit.”  
  
“Well, that’s coming to an end,” Lauren said decisively, without missing a beat.  Bending down to grab the bag of ornaments, she added, “He can’t keep being a prick about us.”  
  
“Lauren!” I muttered low in warning.    
  
“What?” she said, clearly not finding herself at fault.  “I call ‘em as I see ‘em.  And right now he’s being a prick.”  
  
I gave a weary sigh, not feeling up to arguing with her.  Frodo was glancing between the two of us uncertainly, and as his expression was more curious than disapproving, it looks like _prick_ doesn’t have quite the same meaning here as it does at home.  Small miracles, I suppose.  
  
Instead, I turned my attention to the ornaments.  We’d been planning to decorate the party tree.  But judging by the telltale determined glint in my sister’s eyes, I could only assume she now had other plans.  “Where are you going with those?”    
  
“He wants help building the fire.  Sure, I’ll help,” she said with forced, sarcastic cheer.  “It needs a dash of foreignness, don’t you think?”  
  
I gaped at her a bit.  “You’re going to decorate the woodpile?”  
  
“Damn right I am!” she called over her shoulder as she started running back into the throng.    
  
“Oh no,” I said, lamenting the loss of our peaceful day.  “She’s going to get lynched,” I half-joked.  Then I realized with horror that with hobbits’ distaste for foreigners and the apparent seriousness they approach this religious festival, it might very well happen.  I quickly turned to Frodo.  “You guys don’t do lynch mobs around here, do you?”  
  
A troubled frown marred his features.  It did nothing to calm my now growing anxiety.  I was about to run after Lauren, but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me before I could go anywhere.  “What horrors have you seen?” he said quietly, “To immediately think the worst?  Nothing bad is going to happen.”  
  
Murmurs passed through the crowd gathered around the woodpile.  I could only assume Lauren had started hanging ornaments or stuffing the paper in as kindling.  Some of the younger hobbits were clapping their hands in glee.  
  
“See?” he said in a soothing voice.  “Nothing to worry about.”  
  
Then Lauren’s voice shouted over the din: _“Sam, shut up and have a cookie!”_ and Frodo bowed his head in a resigned laugh.  “She can be rather brash, eh?”  
  
“And that’s why I worry,” I replied.  
  
“Point taken.”  He glanced down, as if only just realizing he still had a hold on my wrist.  His hands are large — which is a weird sentiment, I know, seeing as hobbits are so small.  But, well, I’m smaller than he is.  His fingers, long and delicate compared to my rough and calloused, circled around my wrist easily.  As he got to his feet, he tugged me up too.  “Come along, then.  You look like you need a drink after that fright.  There’s some spiced wine around here somewhere made special for Yule.  Let’s nab some before my cousins have a go at it.”    
  
And to my surprise, even as he led the way through the growing crowd, he didn’t let go.

 

* * *

 

_“… You can drink your fancy ales, you can drink ‘em by the flagon!  But the only brew for the brave and true…”_  
  
The energy of the party was simply enthralling.  Jubilant.  The flames of the bonfire soared high and burned with such heat it provided enough warmth for everyone despite the surprisingly large number of people present.  Having been featured in the movies, this was one song I actually knew so I found myself singing along.   I was arm in arm with Lily, as she had dragged me to be her dancing partner for the jig in an effort to help me learn the moves.  She flashed a broad grin that I already knew the song.  We stopped our twirls as we dragged out the word ‘true’ — the pause called for four stomps of a foot, apparently — a satisfying beat that fit all too well before the shouted climax of:  
  
_“Comes from the Green Dragon!”_  
  
Cheers erupted, those with drinks in hand downed them, and the rest of us clapped — except for Lauren, who’s Angry Beaver-like _WOO!_ could somehow be heard over the rest of the crowd.  The fiddlers started up again, this time a faster tune that involved a great deal of cow bells, and Lily squealed excitedly.  She grabbed my hand, just in time as everyone started singing a tongue twister — too fast for me to really catch the words — pulling us into the circle of people that had formed around the bonfire.  They crossed their feet forward and behind in a grapevine of sorts as they moved to the right, circling their dance around the fire.  Our arms were linked to keep the circle from getting too close to the flames, but every ten grapevines or so the hold was released to do a twirl and clap.  
   
Caught up in the flow, I just did the best I could to keep up, laughing with Lily every time I messed up.  About half-way through, with a _Hey-O_ , the dance called for a turn around, so our backs went to the fire, and it was then I realized there’d been a larger circle behind us, dancing in the opposite direction.  The two circles of dancers were now face to face, and it didn’t take long to see that Lauren had ended up in the back circle, arm in arm with Merry and Pippin.  These were drinking songs she’s learned at work, no doubt, because she paused her singing as she saw me, flashing a crazy smile and sticking her tongue out as they passed.  
  
As the song came to a close, the female dancers spun until the fiddles hit their final notes.  A sea of heavy skirts swirled the air, and I shook my head as Lauren joined them adding her own flair — the numerous years of dance lessons making itself known in her grace — as she placed one hand on her swiveling hips and raised the other arm above her head, rolling her wrist about with waving fingers.  It was all a bit provocative… and didn’t go unnoticed by surrounding males.  It wasn’t dirty dancing by any means, but judging by hobbit male reactions, it might as well of been.  I had to bite down on my tongue to stifle my laugh at Merry’s startled stare in particular.  That moment of wide-eyed bafflement was comical, as was the quick furrow of his brow as he realized a lot of the Green Dragon regulars around them were goggling even more than he’d been.  He slung an arm around Lauren, pulling her in close to whisper something in a very conspiratorial manner.  My sister allowed Merry to lead her over to the kegs, and Pippin, oblivious as always, ran after them.  
  
Troublemakers they may be, but despite it all they truly are good guys.  My sister couldn’t be in better hands.  
  
Lily, coming to a stop beside me, followed my gaze.  “Pip won’t give them a moment’s peace, will he?”  
  
“Nope,” I returned, all grins.  “How long do you think it’ll take him to figure out they fancy each other?”  
  
“Ehh,” Lily shrugged, scrunching up her face in uncertainty.  “Two years, mayhaps?  That is, unless someone decides to outright tell him.”  
  
“Years?” I echoed dubiously as we started weaving our way back through the crowd toward the party tree, where we parked our stuff for safe keeping.  
  
“Do not underestimate our dear Pippin and the depths of his ignorance on matters of the heart.”  
  
“My sister can be pretty forward,” I argued.  
  
Lily rolled her pretty hazel eyes before placing a bracing hand on my shoulder.  “My friend, nearly every time Mrs. Brandybuck tries to find her son a what she deems a _proper lass_ , Pippin somehow finds a way to sabotage it — unwittingly, of course.  There are numerous tales of courting failures now.  The last one… if I remember correctly, happened over the summer with a lass from Long Cleeve.”  
  
Long Cleeve, a town I know to be in the North Farthing, struck a particular chord in my memory.  Diamond of Long Cleeve is the hobbit lass Pippin will end up marrying.  I smirked a bit at the thought, wondering if Diamond was the hobbit Merry’s mum tried setting him up with.  Perhaps Pippin already has a crush of his own and that was the real reason for the sabotage.  “What was her name?” I asked.  
  
“Can’t remember,” Lily was quick to say, leaning in close as she lowered her voice all gossip-like, “But word is Pippin invited himself to a seat at the supper.  Mrs. Brandybuck, she was furious as you can well imagine.  But she couldn’t very well tell him to leave without seeming rude in front of her guests, now could she?  So she allowed him to sit at their table throughout supper and grew madder and madder as Pippin started to dominate the conversation.  The lass was a North-Took, you see, so naturally Pippin felt he had to regale her with tales of the Tooks down in the Westfarthing.  Oh, the earful she gave him after that!  Believe you me, poor Pip’s ears were bruised from her yanking him out of Brandy Hall after the lass left.”    
  
I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow at the story.  “Merry must’ve had a hand in that too.”  
  
“Mayhaps,” she replied, shrugging yet again.  “But I still betcha Pip won’t be none the wiser for some two years yet.”  
  
I stuck a hand out in her direction.  “You’re on; I’ll take that bet.”    
  
A smile pulling at her lips, Lily grabbed my hand and bobbed it in a shake.  “You can’t be tellin’ him now.”  
  
“Of course not.  Where’d be the fun in that?”

 

* * *

 

Dawn started to streak across the sky, marking the end of the festival.  The bonfire was burning low and with a large bucket of water it was doused in an instant.  Tired from the long night, it didn’t take long for hobbits to collect their things and go on their way.  Bag End was right across the street from the Party Fields, so we had one of the shortest commutes home.  We crossed the fields, arms laden with lunch tins and candles.  When we reached Bag Shot Row, Sam and Lily went one way and the rest of us — Merry and Pippin included — crossed the street, made our way up the walkway through the garden, and entered Bag End through the green front door.    
  
Snores sounded from the den as we came in, so it didn’t take long to notice that Bilbo was fast asleep on the couch.  “He has a hard time staying up for Yule now,” Frodo whispered in explanation.  The lot of us tiptoed past the den as quiet as we could.  Lauren led the way to the bedrooms, the two troublemakers in tow, while I lined what remained of our candles on the kitchen table.  The candle Pippin had gotten me was quite pretty, as he promised.  It was the prettiest of them all, in fact.  While all the candles were bright colors, the one he got me was the only one shaped like a blooming rose.  I set the rose in the middle of the table, lining up two of the plainer candles on each side.  
  
“So what did you think of the festival?” Frodo asked.  
  
I glanced over my shoulder at him.  He’d stacked the tins on the counter and was lingering in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the back hall.  His exhaustion from the all-nighter was all too clear; a drowsy blankness pulled at his features and he looked about a moment away from zoning out completely.  And yet still he paused, waiting to see if I’d enjoyed myself, as if such a trivial thing was important enough to hold off going to bed a little while longer.     
  
Really thinking about it, I had to say that was probably one of the best holidays I’ve ever had.  I hadn’t had that much fun at a holiday since… well, since dad left.  Because even when we celebrated something with Jill and her family, our mother always did something to make it miserable for us.  
  
“It was….” I trailed off when words failed me.  Because the truth is, it was first real holiday we’ve had in nearly ten years.  The sense of community at that festival was so palpable.  For the first time in a long time, it felt like we were part of a family.  But nothing I could say would really explain how amazing it felt, or could fully explain _why_ in a way that he would understand.  He doesn’t know enough about us to really get it.  
  
So as I made my way over to him I simply beamed, letting the excitement light up my face.  “It was fantastic.  Thank you for letting us join you.”  And without any hesitation I got on my tiptoes and threw my arms around Frodo’s neck.  I poured all of the joy and gratitude I’d felt that evening into that hug.  Perhaps the wine had gone to my head, but it was really the only way I could think of to convey how much his time and his kindness has meant to me.     
  
For a brief, awkward moment he stilled.  Due to sleepiness or disbelief that I’d invaded his personal space, I couldn’t be sure.  I was about to pull back when the rigidness melted away, his body relaxing as he snaked his arms around my middle and returned the squeeze.  The pungent smell of bonfire smoke lingered on his clothes and in his hair.  A satisfying warmth radiated from him, despite spending countless hours dancing out in the cold.  The words reverberated in his chest as he murmured, “You are quite welcome.”


	11. Who We Are

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  
  
_Chapter 11: Who We Are_

  
“Kat.”  
  
A poke.    
  
“Kaaaaaaaaaaat.”  
  
A nudge.  
  
I was on my side curled up in a ball.  Blearily peeking one eye open, I was greeted to Lauren kneeling at the foot of our bed, bouncing her butt against her heels.  She was already dressed and put together for the day, wearing a burgundy velvet dress with her hair in low pigtails.  Probably already had her caffeine.  I, on the other hand, felt like I’d been hit by a bus — my thoughts sluggish as if my head was stuffed with cotton.  All-nighters were always like this for me.  Alcohol, apparently, makes it worse.  
  
“Come on, sleepy!”  
  
“No.”    
  
And with that, I threw the quilt over my head and burrowed in the darkness.  I gripped the blanket tightly, knowing all too well she would try to yank it off me.  I felt cold air on my feet as she lifted up the corner closest to her, but I was wrong.  No, instead of yanking at the blanket she dove under it with me, slithering her way up the mattress to lay at my side.  I gave a sigh, releasing my death grip on the blanket as her blonde head popped into view.  “But it’s such a goooooood affffterrnoooooooon,” she said, all goofy and sing-song.    
  
“It is anything but,” I replied in a snarky _thank you very much_ sort of way.  “How the hell are you so hyper?”  
  
“Five cups of tea will do that to you.”  
  
“Shit.  Five?”  
  
“I miss coffee,” she deadpanned.  Something about her tone made me think she meant it more than any other time she’s whined about its absence before.  “I’ve been pissing like a racehorse—”  
  
“Thank you for that image.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” she said, a wry grin pulling at her lips.  “And I’m feeling a little jittery, which is new.  Buuuuuut,” she raised an index finger to accentuate her point, “At least I am now a functional human being.”  
  
I flashed her a pointed look.  “Are you, though?” I teased.  
  
That gave her pause for a moment, then she realized what she’d said.  Finding yourself as a kind of, sort of hobbit in a fictional world tends to mess with your sense of identity and phrases of habit.  We’ve been trying to point out when we have slip-ups, like that one.  She groaned, rolling her blue eyes.  “Shut up, Kat,” she said, giving my shoulder a small smack.  “Now get up!  I need you for something.”  
  
“Is it important?” I asked, dreading the thought of leaving the warmth of our cozy bed.  Surely I can go back to sleep for a little while…  
  
“Well, no,” she admitted.  “But I did promise Merry and Pippin we were going to show them something.  So unless you want them coming in here to wake you up next, I’d get my ass into gear if I were you.  God only knows what they have up _their_ sleeves.”  
  
“I hate you sometimes.”  
  
“Love you, too!” she sing-songed.  Forever sassy, she blew me a kiss and scampered off, taking the quilt with her.

 

* * *

 

After a quick bath, I came back to our room to find that Lauren had taken it upon herself to lay out some clothes for me.  Dark green velvet skirts (no doubt to match her own choice of velvet for the day), a bright yellow vest with brass buttons, and a cream-colored tunic with long billowy sleeves.  Goodness, she must’ve dug deep to find those.  They’re not at all what I usually wear — a bit too fancy for day-to-day, especially if I’m just going on order runs or keeping house.  I ran my fingers over the softness of the velvet, a little sad as the last time I wore velvet was at my last competition.  Our new competition leotard had been a slinky thing of dark navy blue, bedazzled with white rhinestones.  Simple and elegant.  
  
No use for a leotard these days, though.  I gave a deep breath, trying to clear my head of thoughts about days past, even as memories of Jill at the last competition floated to the front of my mind so easily.  _Her dark, unruly curls slicked down and tugged back in a massive ponytail, how her brown eyes glittered as she flashed that winning smile of hers.  That confidence I always envied.  “You ready to kick some ass?”_  
  
So much for those days.  The memories are there, but I hardly feel like that girl anymore.    
  
Turning back to the clothes my sister picked out for me, it didn’t escape my notice she coordinated everything between the two of us with Christmas colors: green and yellow for me, dark red for her.  She _would_.  As I picked up the tunic, I found an envelope and note hidden underneath.

 

  
_Kat —_  
  
_Had Mr. Goodbody down the lane help me make these.  Used the metal buttons off some old clothes Bilbo wanted to get rid of, so it was cheap enough.  So no worries about how much it cost, ok?  Don’t worry about getting me anything.  I got myself a pair too!_  
  
_XOXO_

 

  
Oh, Lauren.  Inside the envelope was a pair of stud earrings, made from pewter buttons, as she’d said.  They appeared delicate, despite them obviously coming from one of Bilbo’s old custom-made vests.  A small dragon was carved on each button, breathing fire, surrounded by a twisted vine — items which I can only guess he had commissioned after he returned from his trip to the Lonely Mountain.  Why he’d given these to Lauren is beyond me, but I suppose he’s never really been one to focus on the cost of things.  
  
The earrings didn’t really match the outfit — the muted silver of the pewter clashed with the yellow vest — but I couldn’t really get myself to care.  Earrings were one of those things we thought were lost to us.  Maybe we should stop trying so hard to be something we’re not.  Maybe then I can start feeling like the girl I used to be back home, my now pointed ears be damned.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean ‘you have holes in your ears?’”  
  
Pippin’s startled question was loud enough that I could hear it as I walked down the hall.  
  
“I know it’s not the sort of thing done around here, but it’s really not a big deal,” Lauren said, sounding exasperated.  
  
As I turned the corner into the den, it was easy to spot why my sister was so annoyed.  Seated on the couch, her Took of a best friend was practically sitting in her lap, peering at her ears (which donned her own pair of earrings) like they were fascinating.  “It’s going through your ear.”    
  
“So she said, Pip,” Merry said from the other end of the couch, his tone suggesting he wanted his cousin to just let the matter drop as if he was a little disgusted by the idea more than intrigued.  
  
“But it’s _stuck through her ear_ ,” he said with emphasis like Merry hadn’t heard him properly.  
  
Frodo, barely turning his attention away from his book, explained, “It’s a human practice.  Uncle’s mentioned the people of Laketown doing it.”  
  
“But she’s not human,” Pippin said, gesturing in Lauren’s direction, as if that logic explained everything.  
  
Leaning a shoulder against the mantel, I crossed my arms with a huff.  “Peregrin Took, if I had a penny for every time _you_ did something not hobbit-like, I’d be a rich girl.”  
  
Frodo didn’t laugh, but he did glance up to flash me a tight-lipped smile.    
  
“A Took’s a Took,” Pippin replied sensibly with a dignified sniff.  “They expect it from me.”  
  
Lauren rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, well.  About that,” she muttered, pushing him off her.  “You should expect it from us by now, too.  Can’t imagine why we’d still surprise you.”  
  
Merry clicked his tongue at that.  “To be fair, we never really know what you’re going to come up with next,” he said in Pippin’s defense.    
  
Lauren gave a shrug.  “ _Touché_.”    
  
“See, like that,” Pippin said, pointing at her.  “What does that even mean?”  
  
“It means ‘good point,’” I piped up.  
  
“Then why not just say that?”  
  
“She did — that’s what _touché_ means.”  
  
“No, I mean, why not just say plain old: good point?”  
  
“It’s easier to say, force of habit… take your pick.”    
  
“Do I _have_ to pick one?” he asked petulantly.  
  
I sighed, holding my head in my hands at realizing I crossed over into idiom territory yet again.  Still, my meaning should’ve been easy enough to figure out.  In true Pip fashion, he was simply being difficult for the sake of being difficult.  Which also happened to be a not hobbit-like thing to do, so imaginary penny for me.  
  
Lauren, who’d had enough at this point, stood up.  “I was going to show you those clapping games you’ve been wanting to see.  But you know what?  No.  Because you’re being a shit.”  
  
I noted with some amusement that our friends barely batted an eye at her swearing.  Pippin, slouched against the couch, merely pouted at that news.  “But—”  
  
“No.”  
  
I couldn’t help but laugh.  “So that’s what you needed me for?  A round of _Miss Mary Mack_?”  
  
“Well, more the dirty ones,” Lauren admitted sheepishly, playing with her left earring.  “Those are way more fun.”  
  
“Maybe later then,” I said.    
  
“Pro’lly for the best,” Merry said, getting to his feet and yanking his cousin up off the couch with him.  “We’ve got to be headin’ home anyway.  Mum’ll have a fit I’m not there already to help with party prep as it is.  See you lot later.”  
  
As Merry dragged a whining Pippin out the front door, I frowned down at the fancy clothes Lauren had me wear before giving her a puzzled look.  “The Brandybuck’s are having a party?”  
  
She sniggered, patting my arm as she walked past.  “Nothing gets by you.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  But didn’t!  Because I forgot.  Happy New Year!”

 

* * *

 

That evening Brandy Hall was full to the brim with activity, a family party.  It’s a tradition that everyone looks forward to each year.  The Brandybucks always host it in their grand hall, and everybody in their family or anybody as good as family is invited – which includes a huge lot of hobbits, you can be sure of that.  The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time they reached Buck Hill Road, Brandy Hall finally in sight.  Kate’s been oddly hesitant about coming to this party.  “But we’re not related,” she said worriedly for about the umpteenth time, so Bilbo shushed her yet again and pushed her and Lauren along heedless of her comments.  Frodo followed after them, shuffling his feet through the cold snow.  
  
“Almost three months of living under our roof, you pull your weight around the home and then some taking care of us, and I needn’t say how fond I’ve become of you.  You’re as good as family.  Better family than some of our actual blood relations, in fact, so hush now,” Bilbo said firmly, leaving no more room for argument.  
  
Frodo gave his uncle a hearty pat on the back.  “Well said, Uncle,” he said.  Bilbo snorted and shook his head a bit at the remark, slowing his gait.  The sisters, curious, slowed down to stay with them, but Bilbo waved them on.  “Go on lasses, we’ll be just a moment.”  With uncertain smiles they turned, pushing past the fence and up the walk.   His uncle let the sisters travel ahead out of hearing range before he continued.  
  
“I mean it too, you know, ‘bout them being family,” Bilbo said and wagged a finger in Frodo’s direction with a pointed look.  “Not much gets by me now.  She may be different and I may be old, but don’t think I don’t see what’s between the two of you.”  
  
Frodo scoffed a bit in denial.  “Kate’s just a friend, Uncle Bilbo, nothing more.”  
  
Bilbo’s face broke out in a sudden grin.  “I never said anything about Kate-lass,” he said triumphantly, eyes alight with excitement, clapping him on the shoulder, “But it looks as if I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.  Prepare yourself for that.”  
  
Despite his uncle’s teasing, Frodo knew what he was getting at.  He knew it all too well.  It’s not the first time Frodo’s been the hot topic of conversation with the Brandybuck rumor mill.  There’d been much talk of his parents and their deaths, back when it all happened.  Having to listen to all that speculation in his new home — how _surely_ his father sunk the boat, how _surely_ his mother pushed him in — has made him a little bitter about gossip.  
  
Perhaps he ought to keep conversations short and to the point tonight.  Maybe even leave early, before the heavy drinking starts.  
  
As soon as he stepped into the ruckus of the party, he heard his cousin Merry exclaim, “Frodo!” and next thing he knew he was being strangled in a massive hug.    
  
“Hello to you too,” Frodo choked out and returned the embrace.  
  
“Good to see you, good to see you!” Merry went on theatrically, letting his voice carry.  
  
Frodo laughed, a bit confused at his cousin’s antics.  “Merry, you just saw me this morning—”  
  
Merry’s eyes went wide and he shushed him while glancing around nervously.  “Mum doesn’t know I celebrated in Hobbiton last night with you lot, so keep it down, alright?”  At hearing this, Frodo rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but let out a little half scoff, half-chuckle.  Esmerelda Brandybuck has been dead set on getting her son ‘straightened out’ as of late.  Which means she’s been doing her best to keep Merry out of trouble.  Apparently, that also includes keeping watchful eyes out for suitable hobbit lasses.  Merry’s barely into his tweens, so it’s rather early for him to be thinking about marriage.  But unsurprisingly that matters little to meddling Aunt Esme.  
  
“How many lasses did she invite tonight?” Frodo asked, grimacing at the thought.  
  
Merry shrugged.  “A whole lot of ‘em, it seems.  That’s why she has me on door duty, to invite everyone in.”  A new group of hobbits then arrived and he nodded at them as they passed, saying polite yet distant, “Welcomes” and “Happy Yules”.  Frodo shook his head at the noticeable lack of enthusiasm.  
  
“You best watch yourself tonight,” Merry warned, turning back to their conversation. “Tongues have already started waggin’.”  
  
“Just as we figured they would,” Frodo replied with a wry smile.  
  
Leaning in close, hand on his shoulder, Merry pointed toward the reception room just beyond the front hall.  The usual table of drinks and nibbles was out in full spread, and there — just at the end of the table, next to the jams and biscuits — was Pippin, guiding Lauren and Kate through the line like a dutiful host.  “I’ve asked Pip to keep an eye out for them until we can join them.  Last thing we need is one of our charming relatives to say something particularly daft.”  
  
The sisters didn’t really seem to mind having an escort, if their gentle laughter at the conversation was any indication.  Kate looked unexpectedly at ease.  Her eyes no longer scrunched with worry.  Toffee colored hair fell in waves around her shoulders, so unlike the elegant foreign twists she so favored.  It made her look older.    
  
The fancy dress suited them, he decided.  It was the first time he’d seen Lauren and Kate in proper clothes, not the eccentric, mismatched ensembles they normally wear.  Velvet isn’t something they can afford, he knew, but the hand-me-downs were a smart choice for the evening.  They looked entirely respectable and well put together — if he hadn’t known any better, he’d of thought them Shire lasses rather than foreigners.  He smiled as Kate struck up a conversation with Maybelle Boffin at the nibbles table.  
  
“I think they can take care of themselves,” Frodo assured.  
  
Merry pressed his lips into a thin line.  Eyebrows raising into his hairline, his disbelief was all too clear.  “Have you met my mum?”  
  
Esmeralda, pretty as ever, was passing through the crowd on the other side of the room with easy hellos and grandiose laughter at every circle of chatting guests.  Effortless, like a butterfly fluttering about flower petals.  Her light brown hair done up with yellow ribbons to match her dress.  He could see it, then, how every so often and ever so subtly her attention would drift to the Tamsins — glancing in their direction as they stacked their plates.  
  
Those curious looks didn’t sit well with Frodo.  Not at all.  Aunt Esme’s been known to get snippy with lasses she thinks are beneath the Brandybuck name.  And considering how much time Lauren’s been spending around Merry… Frodo would bet money his aunt was not in favor of the match.    
  
His cousin’s frown matched his own.  “Mum doesn’t like me hanging around Lauren so much.  Seems to think it’ll give me ideas.  Last thing we need is for her to be… _herself_ … and try to get the lasses to think they’re not welcome here or some such nonsense.”  
  
Frodo nodded, watching as Pippin ushered them to a table at the back of the room, pointedly away from the more gossipy relatives, and how several people’s gazes followed them.  “Good call,” he said, “Much appreciated.”  
  
Merry gave a little bow.  “I do have my moments of brilliance.”

 

* * *

 

_“Haven’t seen you in a while, you know?”_ and _“My, how you’ve grown!”_ comments are a customary thing at this party for Frodo.  Acquaintances and distant relations, many of them older and turning gray.  Dotty Underhill in particular always enjoyed hearing about Frodo’s endeavors, especially so after she became a widow.  She’d been close with his father’s parents before they’d died.  Sometimes he wondered if she liked watching out for him on their behalf.  
  
The old hobbit’s wild, white curls were pulled into a knot atop her head, and her spectacles were larger than Frodo remembered them being the last time they spoke.  “Ah, there he is!  Young Mister Frodo Baggins,” she said, eyes alight with festive cheer as she nursed a rather large glass of Uncle Saradoc’s famous mulled wine.  She pulled out the chair next to her, inviting him to sit by giving the seat a pat.  “These parties are never complete without our little chats.  How are you, lad?”  
  
“Good!” Frodo said, plunking his ale on the table and dropping into the chair.  “How’s life by the Brandywine these days?”  
  
“Much the same as it’s always been,” she replied with a wave of her hand, a smirk pulling at her lips.  “A spot of quiet gardening here, a case of missing chickens there.”  
  
Frodo snorted in disbelief.  “Mister Ranton still hasn’t learned to properly fence his chicks?”  
  
“Nay, he’s learned his lesson.  But some troublemakers keep sabotaging the fence,” she said.  With the way she said it, pregnant pause and conspiratorial look, Frodo had a feeling the old hobbit herself was the culprit.  “All in good fun,” she assured.  “They never go any further than the other side of the road.”  
  
Frodo nodded, biting down a grin.  “He still yell at them?”  
  
_“Why do you chickens keep crossing the road?”_ they said together, then shared a laugh.  
  
“It’s a show every morning.  I sit in my garden with a cuppa and watch the feathers fly,” Dotty said, sipping at her wine.  “You know, I actually answered his question the other day.  _‘To get to the other side, obviously.’_   He hadn’t been amused.  Then again, it’s been how many years and he still hasn’t noticed I put chicken feed on my walkway.”  
  
“It’s the little things in life,” Frodo commented.  
  
“Here, here,” she said.  Dotty raised her drink in Frodo’s direction, so he lifted his own and clinked their glasses.  He found himself wishing yet again that his uncle would take a shine to Dotty.  They’d make a good match.  But alas, his uncle has never quite shown any interest in settling down.  
  
After their drink, she smacked her lips.  “Have you written any new songs?  You promised me one last year.”  
  
He ducked his head, sheepish.  “No, I’m afraid not.  Things have been busy around Bag End as of late.”  
  
“Busy indeed.  That’s one way of putting it,” she said mildly.  “Or so I’ve heard.”  
  
“Oh?” he said, feigning surprise.  “What is it you think you’ve heard?”  
  
“Something about foreign housekeepers with nimble feet and charming smiles.”  Dotty flashed a cheeky, charming smile of her own, and Frodo knew she could care less who his new friends were, she just wanted to see him be happy.  
  
“Aye, that sounds about right,” he relented with a laugh, admitting defeat.    
  
“I’m happy for you, truly.  Just be sure you make time for yourself to write your songs!  You have a gift, lad, much like your uncle.  It’d be a shame to lose your poetry.”  
  
“Bilbo writes enough for the both of us, I’m sure.  But nonetheless, I’ll try.”  
  
“Try?” Dotty exclaimed in surprise, holding a hand to her heart.  “Dear me, never thought I’d see the day a lass would turn your head.  Never mind two.”  
  
_And there’s my_ _cue_ , Frodo couldn’t help but think.  “My head is my own,” he insisted, grabbing his ale and getting to his feet.  At her teasing laughter, Frodo shook a finger in her direction.  “You best be careful, Dotty, else I decide to write a song about you next.  Maybe a ballad about stolen chickens.”  
  
“Best you do!  I’ll look forward to it!” Dotty said with no small measure of excitement, lifting her glass at his retreat.    
  
And so it continued.  It was similar talk, over and over again.  _How’s your uncle?_ and _How’s life?_ then somehow inexplicably the conversation would turn to the Tamsins.  As if no one could be bothered to talk to the two lasses themselves.  But then again, perhaps there’d be no fun in that.  Less speculation that way.  And mayhaps people aren’t intrigued by the lasses at all, but rather at how they found themselves as residents of Bag End.  
  
Later on that evening, just as he finished the obligatory mingling and laughing off nosy questions, he could hear Bilbo trying to catch his attention.    
  
“Frodo!”  
  
With ale in hand, Bilbo was motioning for Frodo to join him.  He was huddled with Merry’s parents, which usually led to awkward conversations and gossip, nothing that sat well with Frodo’s conscience.  “Come here, Frodo-lad, that’s a boy.  Your aunt and uncle have been askin’ ‘bout you.”  
  
“Have they now?” Frodo asked lightly, raising his eyebrows a bit at his aunt’s knowing smile.  Something was up.  He just knew it.    
  
Esmeralda’s eyes glittered.  “Well, one is bound to be curious.  You Bagginses have been kind enough to open your door to two pretty lasses.  People have been talkin’.”  
  
Straight to the point, then.  Frodo nodded, trying not to seem too uncomfortable.  Aunt Esme likes to pounce on embarrassment, dig deeper to get to the jewel of truth underneath – a dangerous prize when wielded by one of the town gossips – and she’s certainly one of the most talkative.    
  
Bilbo just took it in stride and gave a hearty laugh.  “Ah, two girls after my heart, to be sure.  Don’t know how Frodo and I managed without them for so long.  Bag End seems like a home again, kept up as it should be.  No more burnt meals.  It’s lovely, really.”  
  
Saradoc, only now truly interested, tilted his head to the side.  “I’ve seen them running around town once or twice.  What are their names again?”  
  
“Lauren and Kate Tamsin,” Frodo supplied.    
  
“Our son is quite taken with Lauren, it seems,” Esmeralda commented pensively.  “Not that he would admit it.  But I’ve been hearing an awful lot about their shenanigans around the East and West Farthings.”    
  
Frodo followed her line of sight to a table across the room, to Merry seated with Pippin and the Tamsin sisters.  Pippin was talking excitedly, arms flapping about him.  The group burst into laughter, Kate throwing her head back and hugging her arms to her chest in amusement, Lauren placing a hand on Merry’s shoulder, turning to snicker against him.  Merry pat Lauren’s sandy-colored hair through his own laughter.  Kate turned a little, trying to catch her breath, and their eyes caught for just a moment.  It didn’t matter that she was on the complete opposite side of the room, he felt his breath catch in his throat as she flashed him a brilliant smile.  He realized then that he could easily watch her like this all night, for he loved when she smiled at him like that.  But then the moment was over, because she was turning her attention back to Pippin, who was now demonstrating something by making a tower out of empty tankards.  
  
“It figures,” Esmeralda continued on, “That the one lass my son shows any interest for is the one I hardly know anything about.”  
  
“Now, now, Esme,” Saradoc tutted.  “Pouting doesn’t suit you.”  
  
Frodo, not at all liking where the conversation was headed, toward engagements and marriages and probably his own interest in lasses, quickly took his leave with some mumbled, polite excuse.

 

* * *

 

I nearly jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder but laughed it off when I saw it was only Frodo.  “Oh!  I’m sorry, Frodo.  I didn’t hear you.”  
  
“She was too engrossed in my story, she was,” Pippin boasted.  “Told you it would scare you.”    
  
Lauren reached across the table to smack Pippin on the arm. “She’s hardly scared of your childhood goblin hunts.”  
  
“Oi!” Pippin squeaked, giving her a frown.  “Those goblins were terrifying I’ll have you know!”  
  
“Not to mention completely imaginary,” she retorted with a laugh.  
  
Pippin puffed up, indignant at that.  “Yes, yes, it may be funny now… but back then they were terrifying.”  
  
“Sure, sure, Pip, whatever you say.”  
  
Frodo was giving me an interesting look, one I couldn’t interpret.  One of concern, possibly, or one of contemplation.  I couldn’t be sure.  All I knew was that it was completely at odds with the cheery atmosphere of the party, at odds with his earlier mood.  I laid a hand on his arm, the fabric of his shirt soft to the touch.  “Is something wrong?” I asked.  
  
He shook his head, seeming to come out of it a bit.  He gave a small smile.  “No, just thinking.”  
  
But even still, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.  I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe him.  “Are you sure?”  
  
He shrugged a little in defeat.  “I could use some air, I suppose.”  
  
I stood, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair and held out an arm.  “Well then, Mister Baggins, would you care to escort me on a walk?”  
  
This time the smile did reach his eyes, and he linked arms with mine.  “Wouldn’t dream of having you go alone, lass.”  
  
For some odd reason, I felt a sudden jolt of nervousness. It felt like we were being watched.  I turned slightly and saw Bilbo from his place across the room with Merry’s parents, his pointed smile.  He held up a toast in our direction.  That was when I realized that it was the judgment, the insinuation that was making me nervous, far more than Frodo alone could ever make me.  All I could do was give Bilbo a small wave as we left.    
  
It was a relief to be out in the cold winter air.  The snow underfoot chilled my toes to the bone, but it was now preferable to the confinement, and judgment, that was inside.  I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what had been bothering Frodo.  At his now relaxed demeanor, rolling his shoulders with a relieved sigh, it certainly seemed like it.  
  
“Is there anywhere you would like to go?” he asked, his breath swirling white about him.  
  
“Not anywhere in particular.”  
  
“Would you care to accompany me home, then?” he questioned, blue eyes probing.    
  
“And leave the party early?  Would that be all right?”  
  
“Certainly.  Not like we’d be too missed.  Your sister is in the company of my cousins, Uncle Bilbo will be drinking with my Uncle Saradoc until the early morning, and the rest of my family will be too distracted by the late night supper to notice our absences for some time yet.  I made the obligatory rounds of ‘hello’s’ and ‘how do you do’s’.”  He suddenly seemed uncertain.  “Unless you want to stay…”  
  
I shook my head.  “Come on then,” I cut in brightly, leaving no room for argument as I pulled on his arm, propelling us down the lane.  
   
Snow crunched underfoot as we walked.  The night sky was cloudy, looking as if it was going to start snowing again at any moment.  Snow is the same everywhere.  Middle Earth, home, it doesn’t matter.  I’m thankful for at least some things being the same.  
  
Frodo’s voice brought me out of my reverie.  “Are you happy here?”  
  
The question was so sudden I had to catch myself.  He didn’t mean ‘here’ as in Middle Earth, compared to home, as I am so used to thinking about.  After all, he still doesn’t know my true origins.  Nor am I sure when it would be a good time to tell him.  If at all.  But he’s been so good to us, so the secrecy hardly seemed fair.  
  
“Of course I’m happy here,” I said honestly.  “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.”  
  
“I’ve been wondering… if you and Lauren have decided to leave and travel again.  Especially now that your injury is fully healed.”  Biting his lower lip, flashing me a sidelong glance… If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was actually nervous about my answer.  
  
So he’s worried that we’re going to leave.  That revelation threw me for a loop, just a little.  It’s nice to hear, since I don’t really _want_ to leave.  “Mister Baggins,” I said teasingly, “Is this your way of telling me you want me to stay?”  
  
He flushed a little, cheeks reddening ever so slightly.  But perhaps that’s just due to the cold.  “Yes, it is,” he admitted.  “If you do decide to travel again, I would ask if I could accompany you.  I’ve always wanted to travel.  However, I wouldn’t feel right leaving Bilbo here alone.”  
  
“He hardly takes care of himself as it is,” I agreed with a small smile.  “I guess it’s a good thing Lauren and I weren’t planning on going anywhere, then.”  
  
He seemed a bit relieved, but not completely.  “Still…”  
  
I came to a halt, and our arms were still linked, which caused him to stop as well.  “Where would we possibly go?”  
  
He glanced down at me and sighed, as if his thoughts should be obvious.  “You must have seen so much of the world traveling.  Bilbo has many stories of his travels and is very proud of them.  Just because you and your sister have not spoken of your travels much doesn’t mean you haven’t had some adventures of your own.  Magic, elves, dwarves… I wouldn’t ask you to stay… wouldn’t want to keep you from that, if that’s what you truly wanted.”  
  
The guilt at those words made my heart clench.  We have been here for months yet we have kept who we are and where we’re from a secret.  Lauren and I, we’re not liars, never have been.  It’s not who we are.  All I want to do is tell him the truth.  Tired of the lies… of dancing around the subject.  If only one person knew the whole truth.  Because the entire time we’ve been here, I haven’t been me, not really.  I’ve been too busy trying to not bring attention to myself.  But I’m done pretending.  
  
“We have traveled a long way,” I said.  “I’m not even sure how we got here.  But Frodo, if you knew what Lauren and I have been through, where we’ve come from… you will think we’re crazy.”  
  
He seemed to understand the feeling, if his _yeah, right_ smile and the shake of his head was anything to go by.  It’s not all that surprising, I guess.  It’s popular opinion that the Bagginses are a little odd, ever since the journeys abroad turned Bilbo into a ‘crackpot.’  Frodo is often seen as the poor, misunderstood ward that has picked up some of his uncle’s eccentric tendencies.  I guess it makes sense he knows better than to jump to conclusions based on appearances.    
  
“I’m not going to judge you,” he said slowly.  “I’d be willing to listen, if you ever want to tell me.”  
  
His sincerity was palpable.  I gasped sharply as his fingers cupped my cheek.  Cold, cold fingers.  I grabbed them with my gloved hands, rubbing them a bit to get some warmth back into them.  “Perhaps this is a conversation best left to have indoors, huh?  Look at me, keeping you outside this time of year.”    
  
The rest of the long walk back to Bag End was quiet.  I didn’t know what to say.  And, Frodo, well… I knew he sensed my anxiety, if his worried looks were anything to go by.  As we walked into the hobbit hole, stomping the snow off our cold feet on the entrance hall rug, I said quickly (before I could change my mind), “We have not been completely honest with you.”    
  
He seemed taken aback, eyebrows furrowing.  At the hurt in his expression, I continued earnestly, “It’s not because we _wanted_ to lie to you.  We just didn’t know how to explain the situation.  We haven’t been able to understand it.  And we figured – how can anyone here believe us, if we can barely believe it ourselves?”  
  
I could sense his weariness.  But to his credit Frodo didn’t really say anything, just listened with a stony silence as he led the way into the den and started to pile up logs in the fireplace.  He was withholding judgment until I’d finished saying what I had to say, just as he promised.  I was thankful for that.  It’s not easy being told you’ve been lied to. That must be especially so when it comes from a person you’ve shown such kindness, and even welcomed into your home when they needed it most.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge.  “I don’t really know how to say this, but… Lauren and I… we’re travelers, but not travelers in the way you think we are.  We’re not from here — we’re not from Middle Earth.”  
  
He stilled and turned to face me slowly, the beginnings of a fire just starting to crackle behind him.  It was as if he was certain he heard wrong.  “What do you mean?” he asked, and it sounded like he had trouble getting the words out.  
  
Jesus, this is probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to explain.  “I mean exactly that – we’re not from here,” I said, and pointed at the map of Middle Earth Bilbo had hanging on the back wall, “Or anywhere on there.”    
  
His gaze drifted to the map I was motioning to and the puzzled furrow of his brow was immediate.  “You’re from Valinor?” he asked in disbelief.  “But that can’t be possible.”  
  
Oh, that would be the logical conclusion, wouldn’t it?  That we’d be from the Haven across the sea — that mystical place the elves go when they leave Middle Earth.  But sadly this whole shit show’s been anything but logical.      
  
I shook my head.  “No, not Valinor.  We’re from a place called New Hampshire.  It’s in a country called the United States of America — the land of the free, home of the brave, yadda yadda.  Us coming here, we don’t really know how it happened.  It was all so sudden.  We just woke up here one day – that was the day you found me, you know.  I woke up in the middle of that forest, no idea where I was or how I got there, feet injured from gymnastics the night before, stumbling around for hours like a lunatic and swearing like a sailor, and that’s when you found me.”  It felt like I said it all so fast, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a flood of what must’ve sounded like nonsense.  But it seems he was able to catch what I’d said well enough, even if he didn’t fully understand it.  
  
He blinked a few times, was silent for several minutes.  Head tucked down and watching the floor, he paced the length of the room with his arms crossed, turning what I’d said over in his mind.  His steps were slow, purposeful.  The quiet – his silence – was killing me.  I could feel the anxiety building up within me, with the dread slowly burning a hole in my stomach.  I wanted to know what was running through his head.  The easy, peaceful life Lauren and I could have lived through his ignorance – with the lies – was flashing before my eyes, and I suddenly had to wonder if telling him was the right decision.  I could picture all too well the anger at our lies, or placation, forced smiles, and whispers behind hands as the people around us began to think us insane.  
  
 But he just rubbed his face as he tilted his head back with a hollow, humorless laugh.  “I… wasn’t expecting that.”  
  
“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Aye,” he admitted.  He turned toward me, frowning.  I was worried what that frown meant.  But then he said, “I don’t… think I understand.”  Large blue eyes met with mine, an intense stare, as if he was trying to find the answers he sought simply by looking at me.  With his pauses, it was obvious he was trying to speak his mind as delicately as possible.  “This place you speak of… I have never heard of it.  I don’t think it exists.  Yet… it must exist somehow if that is truly where you are from.”  
  
“Lauren and I don’t understand it any more than you do.  And where we’re from, Middle Earth doesn’t exist either.”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I originally knew Middle Earth – even him – as part of a fictional story.  It’s a miracle Frodo is being as open-minded as he is.  I couldn’t help but think that mentioning the _Lord of the Ring_ franchise from back home was a bad idea.  
  
“So it was an accident… your coming to the Shire?”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much.  We didn’t intend it.”  There was a growing sadness in his expression at those words.  And I realized then it must seem like our friendship, Lauren and I staying in Bag End, was just a means to an end because we don’t have a choice, and nothing more.    
  
But that’s not the truth, is it?  Because even if we did have somewhere else to go, we wouldn’t want to leave.  Our new friends are truly an integral part of our lives now.  “Our coming here has turned out to be a pleasant surprise.  We’ve met a bunch of wonderful people that we never would’ve met otherwise,” I explained.  
  
He smiled at that, but the sad curiosity still lingered – I could see it in his gaze.  Not that I could blame him.  “This does explain some things,” he admitted softly.  Caught up in his own thoughts, he didn’t elaborate.  But I needed that explanation, to know what he was thinking about.  There was still a part of me that doubted whether he truly believed me or not.  I just had to ask.    
  
“So you really believe me – well, believe us?”    
  
“It is unbelievable.  Enough to boggle the mind.  But at the same time…” he said it all slowly, carefully, deliberately.  I could practically see the gears turning in his mind; eyes alight with the possibility of such an incredible thing as he scanned every inch of my face.  “I’ve met a lot of foreigners – Bilbo’s friends from his travels.  They have come ‘round to visit on occasion.  It’s been a while since one of them have stopped by, but… you and Lauren have always been so, so… _different_ from all of them.  So many different stories… and how you always dodged our questions.  It worried us, you know – me as well as our friends.  We didn’t quite know what to make of it.”  
  
“I’m sorry for lying to you all,” I said again.  “It’s just, we didn’t know what else to do.  We didn’t want to lie to you – we hated doing it.  It’s not who we are.”  
  
He grabbed onto my hand again, gave it a comforting squeeze as he let out a gentle laugh.  “That much was obvious.  I’m just glad it’s something like this.  We were imagining that awful things had happened to you and Lauren.”  
  
I couldn’t help but cringe slightly at that.  He caught it and began tracing the scars on the palm of my hand – the injuries from the tree a few weeks ago – with the tip of his index finger.  “But something _did_ happen to you, didn’t it?  In addition to… to, well, this travel.”  
  
What happened to Lauren and I – what our mother and coaches put us through – was difficult and unpleasant, yes.  But, reflecting back on it now, perhaps the situation could’ve been much worse.  I gave him a smile.  “Enough happened.  But it’s okay.  What we went through will be useful to us and worth it one day.”  I retracted my hand, deciding to leave the matter at that.  
  
“You push yourself too hard sometimes,” he said in reply, and I had a feeling he was thinking back to the training day he stumbled upon – the one where I fell from the tree.  “You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to… but if I may request…”  
  
Flashing him another smile I nodded, urging him to continue.  
  
“Well, I was wondering if you would tell me about where you are from.  What it’s like.  If you don’t mind.”    
  
He seemed excited at the prospect of something new – and I had a sinking suspicion he also wanted to know more in order to validate my story.    But that’s fine.  It’s amazing he has been so accepting of it… or at the very least, that he heard me out.  
  
Sheepish and holding his head in his hands, he continued, “Just, not tonight.  I’d like to get used to the idea of this travel – that such a thing is possible.  Thinking about it makes my head hurt a little.  I know you are telling the truth – I feel it in my heart and I see it in the worry in your eyes – yet I can’t seem to get the logic worked out in my head.  I need some time to think about it all.”  
  
“I’m sorry it’s all so complicated,” I said, apologizing yet again.  It felt necessary.  Especially since Lauren and I still haven’t been able to make heads or tails of why or how we arrived in Middle Earth, even after months of being here.  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.  When you’re ready, of course.”  
  
With a nod he started to make his way back to his room to mull over my story, no doubt.  And as I watched his retreating form, I knew something was missing.  It just felt inadequate leaving things there.  I _couldn’t_ leave things there.  “Frodo,” I called, and his name still felt so odd on my tongue – a part of me still couldn’t believe this was all real.  But it was.  He was as real as the pain in my heart at the thought of the horrible things yet to come.  As he turned, the fire highlighted his silhouette in the darkness of the room.  He looked so lost, and in that moment I regretted saying anything to him.  Knowing the truth about Lauren and I is a burden.  I need him to know just how much I appreciate it and just how much I trust him with it.  “Thank you for _everything_.  Now that you know the truth, our fate is in your hands.”  
  
The small, close-mouthed smile he gave me right then was so familiar – one of the only expressions he shared with the actor that portrayed him in those movies.  We shared an understanding in that moment.  It was a step in the right direction.  Even if that smile only served to remind me that I still had to keep some secrets from him.  I can’t tell him everything – certainly not about the _Lord of the Rings_ franchise or of Tolkien.    
  
After all, no one should know too much about their own future, right?


	12. Being Different

**You're My Light in the Dark**

_Chapter 12: Being Different_

 

“What do you mean you ‘told Frodo’?”

We were home alone in our shared bedroom around lunchtime the next day.  Merry and Pippin had escorted Lauren home earlier that morning.  The two troublemakers were quite put out when I announced I had to steal their partner in crime for a very important and very private discussion.  That was when Frodo piped up he still owed them that drink, some sort of bet he’d lost some time ago.  Merry and Pippin looked a little confused, but never the sort to turn down free drinks, allowed themselves to be ushered out the door.  Frodo bobbed an encouraging nod in my direction as he left, realizing the tough discussion I had before me.

Bless him for giving us the privacy we needed.

From my seat on the edge of our bed, I smiled as innocently as I could.  Lauren’s frown only deepened, her glare only got darker.  

“ …I told him about where we’re from.” 

To say Lauren was upset would be an understatement.  She picked up a book off the bureau and threw it against the wall.  But it was an old tome and the fragile bindings couldn’t handle the impact.  It shattered, sending the pages loose and falling into a crumpled heap.  I sent her a glare of my own, not at all appreciating the work it would take to put the book back together, if it could be mended at all.  

“Well, that’s just wonderful.  So glad you were able to bond over the insanity,” she muttered sarcastically.  “You couldn’t have just had a romantic evening or enjoy his company like a normal person.  _No_ , you just had to bring up how crazy we truly are.  Since you know that’s what it sounds like to him, right?  We’re not just crazy, no —  we’re absolutely _fucked up_ nuts.  How exactly did _that_ conversation come up, huh?  I don’t even want to know.  I can just see it now: ‘Oh, what a wonderful party, that was.  But I can’t have fun, not even for a night, no, because I just have to tell you how crazy I am!  You see, this place here, ‘Middle Earth’ – it doesn’t really exist.  Or so we thought.  But here we are, even if we have no idea how we fucking got here!’”  Her voice kept getting louder, and by the end of her tirade she was downright screaming.  I bet hobbits in their homes two hobbit holes down from us could hear her.  

When she finished I shook my head at her.  “Keep it down, will you?  Unless you want the whole Shire knowing.”  I only continued after she rolled her eyes at me.  “He’s not going to tell anyone.  Besides, you know we had to tell him eventually.  Lying wasn’t right.  And if anyone here would listen to us, and would hear us out, it _would_ be Frodo.”

“Wonderful,” she repeated sarcastically.  “Not that this involves me at all or anything, but you couldn’t have talked to me before you told him this because…?”

“I didn’t plan on it,” I retorted.  “It just kind of happened.  The guilt of it got to me.  I’m sorry – it’s just, I wasn’t thinking.”

She shot me an exasperated look.  “No shit,” she said dryly.  With a sigh the anger seemed to seep out of her, leaving only weariness.  She made her way over to the opposite side of the room, gathered the scattered pages of the broken book, muttering promises to fix it.  After a few moments of silence, with the two of us unsure of how to proceed she said, “I’m sorry I’m so upset.  It’s just – it’s kind of a big deal.”

“I know, Laur, but you weren’t there last night; you didn’t see his reactions to things.  He thought things through and didn’t immediately jump to conclusions.  Considering what he and his uncle have been going through, I think he’s become a bit sensitive about perceptions of supposed ‘craziness’.”

It was clear from her expression that my explanation didn’t alleviate her fears any.  “I can think of one reason why he took the news so well.  He’s got a thing for you, you know – and don’t you even deny it,” she ground out, making no room for me to say anything.  I bit my tongue, holding back the protests she had known were coming.  “You may not notice it, or you may not want to admit it, but I know better.  I see the way he looks at you.  He’s—”

This time I did cut in.  “He’s intrigued.  All of our friends are.  We’re like a mystery to them, they want to understand us.”

“Yeah, well.  Say what you want.”

“It’s true!” I insisted.

“To a point,” she retorted back.  “It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve noticed him watching you.  Not in a creepy way, though, despite how much older he is than us.  It’s kind of cute, really.”

“He’s not that much older than me, Laur.  He’s twenty-seven.”  I sighed as soon as the words passed my lips, at her victorious smirk, as if the defense was a sign of my feelings for him.

“Still illegal where we’re from.  You’re only seventeen.”

“And things are different here,” I replied.  “He doesn’t come of age until he’s thirty-three, you know that.  And it seems our age – our maturity – translates differently here.  We look and act more like early twenty-somethings in hobbit years.  You even said so yourself just the other day.”  At her pointed look I continued, “Besides, it’s not as if anything can really come of it anyway.”

Lauren frowned at that.  “And why the hell not?” she asked, and it struck me then that she actually wanted me to go for it – to see how things would turn out with Frodo.  As if that was even an option.  Then again, this is also the girl who has made her interest in Merry more than obvious.

I paused for a minute, searching for the right words.  “It’s amazing that we are even here.  But think, Laur, just how quick and easy we got here.  No rhyme or reason that we have been able to see – it just happened.  One day we suddenly appeared here.  I’m so afraid… that it will be just as easy to go back to our old life.  To wake up and have this reality just… disappear.”

She bit her lip and nodded in understanding as if that very same thought had crossed her own mind.  But then I added, “The war is far off – I mean, he’s not even going to get the ring for at least another five years – but he _is_ going to go through a lot.  I don’t want to add to his troubles.”

“Especially if we just up and disappear one day without warning,” she said, mirroring my own thoughts.

“Exactly,” I said.

“The thing is, though,” she said, glancing up from the tattered book in her hands, “I don’t think it’s going to matter either way, Kat.  It’s obvious he cares about you already.  Our leaving will affect him if you decide to pursue a relationship with him or not.  Romance aside, he is still a friend, after all.”  Lauren left the room then, probably off to find materials to fix the text she broke.

Dammit, she has a point.  Still… for some reason I can’t help but think that a relationship would only complicate things.

 

* * *

 

You know how when you watch a clock time seems to slow down?  That feeling only gets worse when you’re watching a clock while standing on your hands.  Another snowstorm was raging outside, which left me stuck training indoors.  The clutter of Bag End doesn’t allow for much, but I managed to clear a section of wall space in the bedroom I share with Lauren.  Handstand holds against the wall are better than nothing, and the best part about them is that they are very safe – there won’t be any bloody hands or broken limbs today.

It causes a wicked rush of blood to the head, though.  My face was hot and pulsing, shoulders and wrists aching, and yet the secondhand of the pocket watch situated on the floor between my hands moved stubbornly slow.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and but a moment later Frodo was pushing open the door and calling my name.

“Kate, Uncle wants to know where—Oh.”  

That was how he found me, upside down and against a wall.  A compromising position to be sure.  I couldn’t see his face but I could hear the surprise in his voice.  There was a hint of awkwardness as well, as if he had walked in on something and disturbed my privacy.  I had on a pair of trousers with my shirt tucked in, so it’s not like he walked in on anything indecent.  The situation was so ridiculous I had to laugh a bit.

“Hold on, I’ve got ten seconds left,” I said, and when my time was up, I stepped down from the handstand and turned myself upright again.  “You have quite a knack for finding me practicing my handstands.”

“So it seems,” he agreed, looking a bit puzzled.  I guess it isn’t every day you find a hobbit standing around on their hands.  “You’re as red as a tomato.”

“Good, ‘cause that’s the look I was going for.”  I grinned at him, at his curiosity.  

He ignored my flip remark and pursed his lips together.  It wasn’t exactly an approving look.  If anything, it was filled with concern.  “You must’ve been up there for a long time to be that flushed.”  

“Stop worrying!  I’ve been flipping around for fifteen years.  I know what I’m doing – you got to trust me on that.”  I knew where the concern was coming from – the fall from the tree, not to mention any other fall or possible injury he can concoct with that imagination of his.  

“It’s not your acrobatics that I worry about.  It’s the fact you push yourself so hard that worries me.  There must be a reason why.”  

I could hear the question he didn’t ask – _why do you train so hard and so often?_ – so I explained, “It took a lot of time to get the skills I have, it would be a shame to ignore my talents and let them go to waste.  Besides, you never know when my training might come in handy.”

Frodo nodded, not able to argue against that, and said with a slight sigh, “Fair enough.  But promise me you will take care of yourself – no more injuries.”

Smiling again, and not being able to help myself, I gave him a small salute.  “Of course _mon capitane_.”  

Those words made him pause, and he glanced at me blankly for a moment.  “You are something else,” was all he said, shaking his head at me in a bewildered sort of way.  

That’s when I realized that Frodo would not understand the reference.  Whoops.  But at least now he knows _why_ I say strange things sometimes.  “Anyway,” I started as I rolled my wrists in circles to stretch feeling back into them, “You had mentioned something about your uncle, yes?”

“Oh – right.  He was asking about Lauren and if she would start cooking dinner.  But I haven’t been able to find her.”  

“She went out to the market earlier to buy some twine to fix one of Bilbo’s books,” I replied.  “But that was hours ago, even before the snowstorm started.  She should’ve been back by now.”  

Normally Bilbo doesn’t have to ask for meals, as Lauren is very diligent when it comes to her cooking duty.  She’s proud of it and rubs it in our faces every so often seeing as she is the only one around Bag End with a knack for cooking.  Frodo and I burn almost everything we touch and Bilbo – while a decent cook – spends as much time as he can on his writings and leaves the task to us.  The fact that Lauren wasn’t back was troubling – and now that it’s snowing rather hard outside doesn’t help matters.

My worry must’ve been apparent because Frodo was quick to place a hand on my shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze.  “She’s all right.  She probably ran into my cousins or got caught up with some pub regulars in town.”  

I know he’s right.  The Shire is a safe place, after all.  The only real troublemakers around were Merry and Pippin – hardly people to worry about.  Even still, not knowing was enough to put me on edge until her safe return.

 

* * *

 

At 11:30 that night, right when I thought I couldn’t wait a minute longer without going crazy and striking up a search party, Lauren stormed into Bag End and slammed the round, green front door behind her – right into Merry’s face, apparently.  From our seats in the den Bilbo, Frodo, and I exchanged alarmed glances at all the commotion – with Lauren’s thunderous stomped steps and Merry’s shouted apologies, not to mention the poor old door.  

 “What the blazes?  What is with all that racket, girl?” Bilbo asked as we got to the front hall.  

 Upon closer inspection I could see Lauren’s face was stained with tears, and by the looks of it, she’d been crying for some time.  Her hair was falling loose from its braid, with wisps sticking out every which way, giving the impression that she’d been tugging at her hair in her distress.  “I’m sorry, Mister Bilbo.  It’s just been an awful day and Merry followed me the whole way home despite me telling him not to.  I’m just going to go to bed now.  Goodnight.”  She managed to keep her composure long enough to get the words out, and as quick as she came in, she ducked her chin and booked it down the hall to our room.  She hadn’t even taken off her snow-drenched coat and scarf.

 “Oh dear,” Bilbo murmured, the sentiment mirroring all of our thoughts.  “I do hope she is all right.”  He turned to me still frowning.  “Do take care of her, Kate-lass.  Something certainly happened this evening.  I’ll have to have a word with my dear cousin Esmeralda about all this before the week is out.”

 There was something curious about Bilbo’s words.  Something didn’t seem right about them.  “With Merry’s mum?  About what?” I couldn’t help but ask.  It felt odd that Bilbo seemed to already know what the fight was about – if it was a fight at all.  Lauren seemed more heartbroken than angry.  

 But Bilbo just motioned in the direction Lauren went.  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.  I’ll take care of it, lass.”  From behind him, Frodo nodded grimly, he too seemingly aware of what was going on.  I felt at a loss.  What in the world just happened?  I found myself nodding, and moving toward our room.  It was as if my body was on autopilot and I was just along for the ride.  The only thing I could think about was how the Bagginses must genuinely care about us.  The feeling is mutual, sure, but I just hadn’t realized the extent of it until now.

 When I got to our room Lauren was planted face down on the bed, her head shoved underneath a large pillow.  At hearing the door open she said, “Go away,” her voice muffled, not moving an inch.  

 Her jacket and scarf were thrown in a wet ball on the floor next to the bed.  I took quick note of them, knowing they would need to be moved to a more suitable location to dry, but they would have to wait for now.

 “No,” I said, crossing my arms and taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to her.  “Not until you tell me what the hell that was about.  You were gone all day.  Where were you?  I was worried sick.”

 Lauren tossed the pillow from over her head to the other side of the bed and sat up reluctantly.   She knew better than to try and argue with me about leaving her alone.  Her movements were drawn out, her face long and her eyes sad.  I haven’t seen her so utterly disappointed since before we arrived in Middle Earth.  She tugged at the tie securing what little was left of her braid, untangling her hair with shaking hands.  When she was finished she turned to look me straight in the eye.  After a long pause she finally asked, “Why is everything so difficult, Kat?”

 I didn’t know what to say to that.  So I remained silent.  Luckily for me, she was just starting her rant.

 “I mean, can’t anything ever be easy for us?  First, it was Dad leaving.  Then it was that miserable person Mom became when he left.  Then it was her going overboard with our sports.  Then it was our coaches taking advantage of her craziness – wanting us to train all hours of the day to line their pockets.  Not that Mom saw it that way – after all, it was all to make us ‘the very best’…” Lauren trailed off, tilting her head back to bark out a bitter laugh at the ceiling.   

 “Lauren, what happened?” I cut in, pleading again.

 “I thought we were done with all the bullshit,” she said simply, “But I guess I was wrong.”  Light blue eyes were now turned down at the sheets, wringing her hands up in the coverlet.  “Merry’s mother pulled me aside at the market today and invited me to tea.  She was very insistent.  I didn’t want to be rude, so I went along to Brandy Hall with her even though it was a long trip.  Oh, Kat, it was _awful_.”  

 “What do you mean?  She seems perfectly nice to me.”

 “She was at first,” Lauren conceded with a nod.  “But teatime quickly turned into an inquisition.  She wanted to know all of these things about me – us – like our family ties, and how the Tamsin’s aren’t from any hobbit family _she’s_ ever of, and where we’re from, and where we’ve been…” she hiccuped a sob, a tear spilling over and rolling down her cheek.  She swiped at it angrily with the back of a hand, going on to explain, “It was everything any hobbit around here would want to know about us – the information everyone has been so curious about.  

 “I told Esmerelda the same things we’ve told everyone else.  But she was different about it.  Usually when people don’t agree with our travels, or with what ‘our family did by living abroad’, they just shake their heads at us like we’re poor lost souls that don’t know any better – and maybe they even think that we’re eccentric like good old Mister Bilbo.  And you know what?  Maybe we are all those things.  But when Merry’s mother looked at me after I explained everything… it was if I was some sort of mongrel.”

 So that was it then.  Our foreignness.  I was expecting something like this to happen sooner, to be honest, since hobbits really aren’t keen on anything foreign at all.  Of course, being a Tolkien fan I had already known that.  Lauren hadn’t, not really.  I glanced around the room then, at the sparse yet ornate furnishings, the paneled walls, the rounded doorway… everything about the room was so distinctly _hobbit_ – just as the rest of Bag End was – and I suddenly felt so out of place, just as I had the moment I realized we were in Middle Earth for the first time.  How foolish I had been to think we would ever truly fit in.

 “You know what the worst part about it was?” Lauren continued softly, “What hurt the most?”  I turned back to face her and she wasn’t trying to hide the tears any longer.  They flowed freely down her face, reddening her eyes and her cheeks in such a pitiful way.  “His mother outright said to me – straight to my face – that no matter what I did I would never be good enough for him; that she’d never approve of a match with me.  Ever.  All because she doesn’t know where we come from.”  She threw herself at me in a hug then, squeezing with all her might like I might disappear if she let go.  I held her back just as tight as she cried into my shirt.  We might’ve stayed like that for minutes or hours but I couldn’t be sure.  All I did know was that she cried herself to sleep.

 

* * *

  

After rekindling the fire in the den and placing Lauren’s wet winter gear next to the hearth, I had just sat down in an armchair when the front door opened, closed, and locked.  Frodo appeared in the doorway a moment later, running a hand through his dark curly hair in a tired, exasperated sort of way.  “It took a lot to convince Merry to go home.  I don’t think he understands that Lauren needs some time.”

 The fire cast an orange glow around the room, making shadows dance along the walls.  This is my favorite room at night.  It’s toasty and comfortable, which makes it an excellent place to think.  Family portraits line the walls and grace the mantel above the fireplace – they seemed to stand out more tonight than they usually do, probably because of Lauren’s ordeal.  Even still, I can’t help but marvel at how close-knit hobbit families are, and how important the concept of family is to them.  The flames crackled, sparking new light, and that’s when I noticed a new frame on the already crowded mantel.  But it couldn’t be—

 Quickly getting to my feet, crossing the room, there it was – a sketch I had recently done of Lauren and me, the two of us laughing.  I ran my finger along the edge of the frame; hardly daring to believe it was on display in the den.

 “Bilbo was rather impressed with your drawings,” Frodo explained with a small smile.  He was leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, and looking very proud of himself.  “That’s been there for three days now, I was wondering when you would notice it.  Perfect timing considering the circumstances, I’d say.”

 “He went through my portfolio?”

 “Indeed he did,” Frodo replied.  “But that was probably my fault, as I told him you had some talent for drawing.”

 “But why?”

 His smile dimmed a bit at the question but he didn’t miss a beat.  “Do you even need to ask?” he questioned, as if the answer was obvious.  But yes, I did.  I needed to hear it from him.

 I toyed with Lauren’s scarf, smoothing out the edges with my big toe.  Even after living in the Shire as a hobbit for the past few months, my hobbit feet still feel awkward from time to time.  Lily’s commented on a couple of occasions how my feet are some of the smallest hobbit feet she’s seen, but they still feel incredibly large to me.  All the same, though, my _small, not-so-hairy_ _feet_ serve as a reminder that Lauren and I aren’t quite full hobbit.  And how could we be?  We grew up as American girls – and very human girls at that.  “It’s just… Lauren and I don’t belong.  We – the world we’re from… it’s all so different.”

 He shook his head, looking disappointed at what I had said.  “Don’t let my aunt or any of the other hobbits like her get to you.  It’s like I told you the first day we met – tell them one small thing about yourself and they think they know everything about you.  It’s all assumptions, nothing more.”  He came into the room with long strides, and placed a strong hand under my chin, gently lifting my gaze to look him in the eyes – all so I could see his sincerity.  “You claim that you and your sister don’t belong.  But I disagree.  You belong with us – Uncle and me.  We Bagginses love all things foreign – people, places, no matter.”

 He said it all so seriously, with a hint of something more at its core.  It was a subtle flirt but I noticed it easily.  It would have been hard not to.  He was so close and comforting, and the warm, dimly lit room with the glowing hearth certainly set the mood.  For a moment I didn’t know what to say or what to do.  I hardly have experience with such matters.  Boys had always taken a backseat to gymnastics.  But then I noticed he still had a hand underneath my chin – his right hand, the hand that would later lose a finger to Gollum and the Ring.  It gave me pause, snapped me out of the moment I almost lost myself within.  With a deep breath, I quickly stepped back.  He took the hint, realized just how close he was, and took a few steps back as well, eyes cast downward and suddenly becoming shy.  I felt bad about it, already regretting that I stopped things before they began.  But it was for the best, wasn’t it?

 Not wanting things to be awkward between us, I flashed him a reassuring smile and said,  “If you love foreign things then clearly you have far too much Took in you.”  

 At the typical hobbit sentiment, so ironic considering our conversation of being different, he gave a surprised, if not somewhat unsettled, laugh.  “See? Spoken like a true Shire hobbit,” he said, eyes twinkling.

 


	13. Acceptance

**You’re My Light in the Dark**  

_Chapter 13: Acceptance_

 

The next few days were very difficult.  Lauren was listless and roamed around Bag End in a depressed fog.  It was difficult to watch and even more painful to deal with because she didn’t want to talk about it.  She cooked meals and all time spent in between she locked herself in our room, effectively closing herself off from the rest of the world.  She hadn’t left the house at all, hadn’t gone to work at the Green Dragon, hadn’t done any training, and perhaps the most concerning of all, she would barely talk to me.  

After about a week I had enough.  

I sat in the hallway, propped up against the locked bedroom door, leaning my head back against the polished wood.  “This can’t keep going on, Lauren,” I said through the door, loud enough so she could hear.  “It’s not healthy to coop yourself up like this.”

Silence met my words.

“I get it, you don’t want to talk – fine.  But there is something you need to know.  You’ve had a lot of days off from work.  I arranged a little bit of a vacation for you, but you’ve kind of used it up.  Rosie came by earlier and said that Primrose expects you in to tend the bar tonight.”  I heard the bed sheets rustle, then footsteps crossing the floor.  Knowing she finally cracked, I got to my feet just as the lock clicked and the door slid open ever so slightly.  

Hair and clothes bedraggled, she looked a mess.  Gripping the doorframe, face pale, she admitted softly, “I don’t think I can go back there.”

“You’re going to have to see him eventually,” I returned.

“I know,” Lauren said.  “It’s not Merry.  Not really.  It’s just… if all that was said to my face I don’t want to think about what’s been said behind my back – our backs.  The gossip.  To think I’ve been running about ‘spending all my time with boys – and not the _right_ kind of time, if you get my meaning’,” she spat out the last bit mockingly, no doubt parroting one of the many wisdoms of Esmeralda Brandybuck.  “I’m an idiot.”

I rolled my eyes at her.  “No, you’re not.  Besides, since when have you ever cared about what other people think of you?” I said, falling back into our teenage American mindsets — us against the world — the very same attitude we used to embrace daily when dealing with petty, combative people because of our highly competitive sports.  “Last time I checked, Lauren Tamsin isn’t a girl that takes shit from anybody – let alone a meddling bitch.”  

She laughed a bit at that, smacking my arm.  “Kat!” she exclaimed reproachfully through her giggles. “That’s Merry’s mum you’re talking about!”  But since she was laughing, and since she’s been making herself sick over what that woman said to her, she didn’t sound disapproving at all.  In fact, it seemed she enjoyed my trash talk.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much respect for people who treat my sister like an asshole,” I explained with a shrug.  “So fuck her.”

That earned me a small smile as a resigned determination stole over her features.  “Yeah, you’re right,” she said, giving a nod.

“Of course I’m right.”  I slung an arm over her shoulder, steering her down the hallway in a half-hug.  “And it’s not like you didn’t already know that.  You just needed the reminder.  Now come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

Lauren barked out a small surprised laugh.  “Breakfast, really?  God, you’re turning into such a hobbit,” she commented.  I could practically hear the eye-roll in her tone.  She flashed me an amused side-long glance.

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

She scoffed.  “Yeah, but, you know what I mean.  I’m just saying that it’s nice to see, I guess.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy since… well, ever, Kat.  I’ve never seen you this happy.”  We reached the kitchen, and I gave her shoulder one last squeeze before letting go.  Motioning her to take a seat, I went to the counter to retrieve the leftover cider, hardboiled eggs, and scones from earlier.  “And recent bullshit aside, I’ve been pretty damn happy too,” she continued, pulling out a chair and plopping herself in it.

I set a plate and a glass of cider on the table in front of her.  Her expression turned sad again as she picked up one of the hardboiled eggs, holding it up between thumb and forefinger, eyes closing as if in pain at her own thoughts.  It’s not hard to understand why: there’d been a time, not that long ago, where all we’d been allowed to eat for breakfast was a single hardboiled egg.  Hardly enough sustenance for the training we did at the time.  This morning, however, I made sure to give her three, with two scones and plenty of her favorite raspberry jam.  “I’m sorry,” I said, “Bilbo asked for them this morning.”

With a bite to her lip, she shook her head.  “No, it’s okay.  I was just thinking… is this what life’s supposed to be like?”

Such solemnity behind her words.  A heaviness settled in the air between us, full of the dark depression and hopelessness our reality used to be.  So completely at odds with the warmth and cheer I’ve come to associate with our new home.

“I’d like to think so.”    

Banging the egg against the tabletop absentmindedly, cracking the shell, she admitted, “Yeah, me too.”

 

* * *

 

At the Green Dragon that evening Lauren kept herself as busy as she could.  Between clearing tables and taking orders she kept her head down and hummed songs to herself, with a goal of avoiding as much conversation as possible and to keep her mind off her own sullen thoughts.  It was tricky at times, especially since some of the regulars like Filibert Bolger and Sam’s father expressed great concern that she had needed an extended absence at all.  Nosy, nosy people.  But deep down she knew they meant well.  Lauren waved their questions off with as big a smile as she could muster, saying, “I was feeling under the weather for a few days.”  

“It was nothing too serious, I hope,” Sam’s Gaffer said, a pipe sticking out of his mouth, smoke furling around him.  

“No, nothing serious at all,” she assured, refilling the old gentlehobbits’ brews.  Short and to the point is the way to reply to these sorts of talkative hobbits, otherwise the conversation will never end.  Normally she was more than happy to oblige them – that was part of the reason she loved her job – she could talk ears off and listen just as eagerly.  But today was not the day for that.  Certainly not when she had a feeling that half the Shire already knew what transpired at Brandy Hall the week before, a thought which didn’t sit well with her at all and made her stomach tie into knots just thinking about it.   

A patron at the bar called for another refill; saving her from answering any more of the gentlehobbits’ concerned questions.  Lauren gave the old hobbits a smile, and as she turned away Filibert lifted his tankard to her.  “To your health, dear lass.”  The Gaffer nodded, and some younger hobbits at surrounding tables who had been eavesdropping seconded the toast, lifting their own glasses with a chorus of, “Here, here!”  For a small moment she was stunned.  It wasn’t a reaction she was expecting in the least.  To see them all care about her was touching.

Circling around tables, when Lauren reached the bar she saw the two hobbits she spent the whole week trying to avoid camped out on barstools right in front of the tap, and therefore, right in front of her face.  She had been duped.  No one was looking for seconds or thirds – it had been these two calling her over.  Pippin looked quite pleased with himself, as if he’d won a bet, and knowing their antics, it wouldn’t surprise her if the two had bet on when and where they would run into her first.  

Merry, on the other hand, seemed agitated more than anything else.  He was leaning over the counter on his elbows; arms crossed and giving her a dark look from under his big, furrowed eyebrows.  “Why the bloody hell have you been avoiding me?” he asked, tone conveying he wasn’t pleased in the slightest.

“Us,” Pippin piped up, correcting him.  But the comment was largely ignored by both Merry and Lauren.

“You know perfectly well why,” she replied, grabbing two mugs from the clean stock and making quick work of filling them up with ale.

“If it makes you feel any better Aunt Esme isn’t too fond of me either,” Pippin said with sympathy as she slid the drinks in front of them.  

Lauren frowned at that.  “Why’s that, Pip?”

“She seems to think that I hurt Merry’s chances of wooing lasses,” he explained pointedly, taking a swig of ale, with Merry rolling his eyes beside him the whole while.  “Like I scare them off or what have you.  And as if he needs any help scaring them off.”

Merry gave his cousin a swift smack in the ribs for that.  “Quit it!  Honestly.”  Words, which, of course, never end an argument but always tend to begin one instead.

“But it’s true!”

“Like hell it is!”

“Prove it then!”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you!  I’m not interested, besides.”

“What, in lasses?”

“No, you idiot.  In doing whatever my mother tells me to do.”

Damn, it felt good to be with her friends again.  They always could make her laugh, even without really meaning to.  Lauren couldn’t help but grin at the pair, something Merry picked up on immediately.  “So you’re not mad at us then?”

“Of course not.”  At their matching expressions that all but said ‘ _you could have fooled us’_ she continued, “I guess I just needed some time to reflect on what your mother said to me.”

Merry tilted his head to the side; his hazel eyes alight with curiosity.  “What _did_ my mum say to you anyway?” he asked, swirling the liquid around in his glass in a nonchalant sort of way.  As if it wasn’t a big deal.  Even though both he and Pippin already knew that it was – that it had to be – otherwise Lauren wouldn’t have reacted as badly as she did.

She was wiping the counters off with a dishrag when he asked it and she completely stilled at the question.  She felt kind of like a deer caught in headlights.  A million thoughts seemed to pop into her head at once, like the nature of their relationship that his mother had insinuated, something far dirtier and more complicated than the simple friendship they had, not to mention the accusations that she monopolized his time, and kept him away from other lasses.  _Does_ she monopolize him?  Lauren hadn’t really thought about it before Esmeralda brought it up, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want anything to change.  The thought of spending less time with him, or of another girl spending more, just seemed weird and unrealistic.  And what does _that_ mean?  Well, maybe she likes him a lot more than she had been willing to admit.   

“I would rather not talk about it,” she finally said, trying her best to not seem flustered – not that it worked.  They sensed the hesitation with ease.

“You’re blushing!” Pippin, who was ever tactful, pointed out with some astonishment.  He leaned forward over the bar with glee.  “That must’ve been some talk.  Come on, we’re all friends here, you can tell us.”

“It was nothing!” she insisted, pressing a hand to her flushed face, almost as if to hide it.

“Like I’d ever believe it was nothing!”

“Dammit Pip, leave me alone!” and with that, she turned on her heel and sped away from the bar, Pippin not far behind.  

Merry stayed at the bar sipping at his drink silently as he watched his friends, a pleased smirk pulling at his lips.  Lauren’s reaction alone gave him all the answers he needed.

 

* * *

 

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my sketchbook, paper and charcoal pieces scattered all around me, when Lauren came home that evening.

“So how did it go?” I called out.  I could hear her hang up her coat and keys before making her way down the hall.

“Fine, though I’ll probably never hear the end of it from Merry and Pippin,” she said as she came into the kitchen, a bag slung over her shoulder.  She gave a long, wide-eyed stare around the room.  “Jeez, did a hurricane blow through here or what?” she commented, taking note of the mess.

I let my head fall to the table with a tired thud.  “I wanted to draw some things from home to give Frodo some visual references but I’m having a hard time with it.  There is just so much stuff that we can cover so I don’t really even know where to begin.” 

Lauren nodded in understanding, giving me a small pat on the back.  “We’ll figure it out, Kat.”  After a moment she reached out to trace her fingertips across a very rough sketch of a modern city and it’s skyscrapers that was lying nearby.  She had a faraway look in her blue eyes, her thoughts drawn to the past and the world we had been pulled from.  “Are you going to tell him about the _Lord of the Rings_?” she asked softly.  Her bangs, in a bad need of a trim, hung in her face like a blonde curtain, and she peeked out from beneath them as she turned her gaze toward me.  She has been through so much the past few days, I knew she was asking so she could mentally prepare herself for another onslaught if need be.  But there’s nothing to worry about, not with that.

“How can I?” I returned, my tone conveying the impossibility of the idea.  It’s bad enough that we know what’s to come.  In a few years time, Frodo’s going to be forced into a terrible position by carrying the Ring to Mordor – a horrifying ordeal wracked with a lot of pain, death, and responsibility.  That kind of knowledge can be devastating.  I shook my head.  “No, some things are better left unsaid.”


End file.
